


See What I've Become

by Magical_Devil_Alex



Series: DC Shenanigans [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Evil Tim, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Jack and Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Kinda, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Ra's al Ghul is a Creep, Revenge, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, like always, lots of death, my take on what would happen after Dick takes away Robin from Tim, technically rape but Tim never says no, the only healthy relationship here is bw Kon and Tim honestly, this is my first properly mature fic yall, yeah yall we're going there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Devil_Alex/pseuds/Magical_Devil_Alex
Summary: Timothy Jackson Drake has been walking on eggshells his entire life, whether it be from his parents astronomical expectations, Gotham's horrible villains, and even the voices inside his own head. He thought that maybe now he was finally starting to feel comfortable in his own skin, with his bond with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred stronger than ever and his new budding relationship with Kon quickly becoming the best thing to ever happen in his life. Everything seemed... perfect.But then Kon died, and even with as short of a time as that was, it still brought Tim down nearly to the point of no return.Then Steph died.Then his dad was murdered.Then Bruce was killed.Then, to make it all worse, Dick took Robin away from him and gave it to Damian.Now... Timothy Jackson Drake doesn't know who he is, stripped of everything that once gave him purpose.It's time to see what he's become.AKA, a dark what if based on Dick's decision to make Damian Robin after Bruce died.





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm playing fast and loose with canon. Kon comes back a lot sooner than he does in the comics, and Bart never dies, but those should be the biggest things that changes before the events of this story. Please, PLEASE read the tags before getting too invested in this fic. This will be the single handedly darkest thing I've ever written, and I don't plan on pulling any punches. Also, a lot of my characterization and ideas in general are inspired by the amazing wintersnight (iphoniexrising on tumblr) and if you love Tim angst you should totally check out her stuff. With that said, enjoy~

Timothy Jackson Drake knows how to deal with pain. After all, he's dealt with it all his life.

The first pain he remembers feeling was the burning ache deep within his chest that throbbed with the absence of his parents. For many years, he had no idea what this ache was or where it came from, but he knew that no matter what, Jack and Janet Drake were the causes of it. When they were on business trips, the ache begged for them to come back, for them to say something other than the three sentenced letters that informed him that they were extending their time in whatever country they were in and to keep doing in well in school, for them to hold the boy when he was scared after a nightmare or just needed comfort. Tim didn't want the emotionless expressions of the maids that never once uttered a word to him, the cold, empty mansion, devoid of any personality whatsoever. He wanted his mom and dad. He never said this of course, after all, he was a big boy, and big boy's didn't need the comfort of their parents. At least, that's what his Mother always said. 

On the rare occasions Jack and Janet Drake  _were_ in Gotham, the ache changed ever so slightly. It made him want to cower in the corners of Drake Manor where his Mother's icy glare couldn't reach him, where he wasn't forced to go to the galas of the elite and pretend to be the perfect family everyone else thought they were. He hated the smile he was supposed to wear as apart of his outfit  _(not so bright, Timothy, you don't want to look like some foolish little boy, straighten your back, I will not have you drag the Drake name through the mud with your ridiculous posture-)_ and he _especially_ hated the people there. No matter how little he saw or knew his parents, they didn't even _begin_ to compare to the savage and heartless shells of Gotham's most privileged. Their horribly fake, sunshine smiles that were constantly searching for a reason to tear him to shreds, the way they all glided across the floor like undead ghosts brought back from Hell,  _everything._ The pressure of their stares constantly threatened to shatter Tim into a million little shards like a glass mirror, that ache in his chest turning sharp and painful at the thought of somehow disappointing his parents by messing up in front of so many people who were bound to whisper and lie-

The next pain he felt was that of mourning someone he never really knew. Watching the Flying Grayson's fall to their deaths had been a completely different type of pain, all consuming and hitting him right in the gut. He had only been five at the time, but even then he knew that the tangled mass of limbs that had once been Mary and John Grayson would never walk, laugh, or love ever again. And left behind was a young boy only a few years older than himself, a boy that promised to do a flip, just for him. For his biggest fan in the whole wide world. Tim would never forget the day the Flying Grayson's plunged to their deaths, even if the young Richard Grayson eventually forgot about Tim, the trauma too great for him to bare. But that was alright. It was just another type of pain to live with.

It was a very similar to the pain of learning that Jason Todd, the second Robin, died while in Ethiopia. This mourning was much harder on the boy, mainly because he felt as if he  _knew_ Robin, knew  _Jason Todd_ without the older boy ever realizing he existed. All of the pictures Tim has taken of the Dynamic Duo proved that, proved that he understood the anger behind the boy's actions, the power and adrenaline. Richard Grayson may have been Tim's first crush, but Jason Todd had been different,  _special._ Jason had been  _Tim's_ Robin.

But he quickly found out that he had to push all of that aside as Batman swiftly  descended into the darkness of pain himself, becoming harsher and more reckless, becoming something the people of Gotham feared rather than looked up to. Tim realized that if Jason or Dick couldn't be Robin,  _he did._

So that's exactly what Tim did, even if it did take some convincing. He became Robin, the second half of Gotham's Dynamic Duo, the third and only Robin to still have a family when he took up the mantle. Some days, he wished that wasn't the case.

A new type of pain was introduced, but this pain was much different from the others. This pain was external, something that he could physically point a finger at and address. It was... soothing, in a weird, twisted way. The pain made him forget about everything else, gave him something to focus on, whether it be a villain wreaking havoc in the city or a new training exercise that left him sore the next morning. It helped so much that sometimes... he purposely hurt himself outside of training. It helped him relax, he would tell himself as he cleaned up the blood left behind by his injuries. Nothing more, nothing less. It helped him push away the thoughts telling him that he was useless, that he would never be able to live up to his parents expectations or Jason's legacy, that Bruce was just using him until he found a better person more suited for the role of Robin- 

Yes, he used pain to block out all the voices and fears in his head, and if no one noticed, well, he was used to that kind of pain. 

However, none of his past training and experiences with pain could have prepared him for the pain that came with nearly dying, at the hands of his greatest hero and crush no less, freshly risen from the dead. There was something about feeling your own hot, gushing blood pouring from your body but still somehow feeling so cold. It's so surreal to feel your soul trying to climb out of your gut, to know that it would be so  _easy_ to jump over that invisible line and never come back.

Well, never come back was pushing it. After all, Jason was living proof of that. 

All of the pain that surrounded Timothy Jackson Drake was nonexistent to the eyes of everyone else, but honestly, he was okay with that. The first person that was able to see right through him was Kon-El, Superboy, one of Tim's teammates in the Titans. The teen had been with the Titans for nearly a year when Kon had brought it up in private, asked him straight to his face why he'd always radiate so much sorrow and hurt. When Tim had first heard the proclamation, he turned into stone, becoming so quiet and silent that not even his breathing disturbed the air. He ran away from the half Kryptonian before the Super could trap him somehow, but he knew from then on out that Kon for whatever reason could  _see_ his pain, like it was visible in Kon's unnaturally bright eyes when he used his X-ray vision.

Ever so slowly, Tim opened up to Kon about some of his pains and emotions, things he's kept secret for years suddenly pouring out of him like a waterfall. It was just so  _simple_ to talk to Kon, so _easy_ to let everything off his chest and have someone to just  _listen._ The half Kryptonian only gave his opinions when prompted, but he did firmly put his foot down about Tim not hurting himself anymore. It was hard, but gradually Tim started to follow some of Kon's gentle encouragements, sleeping more, eating more, no more hurting himself, and oddly enough the pain just began... fading away, like it was all a bad dream. It wasn't all gone of course, it never would be, but when Tim ever felt himself slipping again into that deep abyss, he knew he could tell Kon and even the other Titans and they would help him in any way they could, like a steady wind pushing him in the right direction. 

The only exception to that rule? Not one word about anything must ever make it back to the Bats by any means necessary. Tim didn't want Bruce or Dick or anyone else finding out about his weaknesses  _(not weaknesses, Cassie's voice firmly reminds him; just things that he as a human being needs to work through before it consumes him alive, not like it doesn't already-)_ and taking away Robin from him, because he didn't think he could take that kind of _pain._

And then he and Kon... well, they grew so  _close,_ and there was this one night when the weather was just so perfect and they nearly kissed- but Tim doesn't remember that night as clearly as he probably should. Mainly because the next time Tim would see the half Kryptonian after that night would be cold and lifeless, covered in bruises and blood that shouldn't have been able to form on the Super's body in the first place. 

That had been the most brutal pain of them all, the most unbearable to deal with. Nearly dying was nothing compared to the pain of losing the one you fell so deeply in love with, not again, not a second time, not when it could actually mean something-

He fell back into old habits. The self harming became worse and worse until he blacked out from blood loss and pain, still next to nothing when put next to his cracking heart. His depression became so bad that he couldn't even get out of bed in the morning, just staring at the white, empty walls of Drake Manor, wondering if it would all be better if he joined Kon in whatever afterlife he ended up in. Anything would be better than this.

He almost did do it, end it all. It was funny, actually, how he was stopped. He had the drugs ready and everything, a perfectly lethal amount of blended poisons that would put him into a painless coma and kill him within minutes, a humane and swift way to die. He had put the syringe to his neck, ready to plunge it in-

When Kon-El, the Kon-El that he himself  _buried_ in the cold earth, abruptly busted down the door of the room he was in  _(third floor bathroom, right next to his room-)_ and tossed the concoction onto the ground, destroying the syringe completely. Tim hadn't even reacted, only stared at the liquid as is spread all over the tiled floor, thinking this was just another one of those hallucinations he sometimes had when he was sleep deprived. Kon was yelling at him, cupping the teens thin face in his large, warm hands and asking him why, why was he doing this?

"For you," Tim remembers saying blankly. Kon's hands were so  _warm, hot_ compared to ice cold numbness he's been feeling on his skin for so long. He wanted to bury himself in that warmth and never feel anything else, never  _need_ anything else.  _"It's always been for you."_

The half Kryptonian's face was just so  _sad_ when he heard Tim say that, his thumbs already wiping away the tears that the teen didn't even know were falling down his face. Even his tears ran cold now, like all the warmth of being alive had been sucked out of his body, replacing his blood with bitter ice. Like he was already dead.

But then that warmth surrounded him, cupping the back of his neck and the small of his spine, pressing him as close as humanly possible to the Super, making sure not one inch of space was left between them and that the cold couldn't get in. Kon gently pressed his forehead against Tim's, making sure the Bat was looking him straight in the eye. "Tim, please,  _never_ do anything like that for me ever again," the half Kryptonian told him in a whisper, his blue eyes glowing softly against his high cheekbones. "Not if it means hurting yourself, I... I don't know what I'd do with myself if I found you dead one day because you thought it was something that I would  _want."_

"I wanted to be  _with_ you," Tim protested back in an equally soft voice, unable to stop himself from wondering what it would be like to kiss the Super, to have someone love him for once-

He didn't have to wonder for very long. The next thing Tim remembered was Kon pressing his warm lips against his own, ever so slowly moving them like he was afraid of what the Bat's reaction might be. He hesitantly kissed back, all of the muscles he didn't know he was clenching sagging into the iron hold of his best friend. Ever so slowly, Tim could feel the ice in his veins thaw the longer he and the Super kissed, the horrible voices in his head disappear the tighter they held one another, the pain drain away with each second they breathed in each others air. 

That night, Tim slept through the night for the first time since Kon died, tangled in the arms of the one he loved the most. 

The half Kryptonian never once asked why none of the other Bats ever came for Tim, why they let him spiral down to nearly the point of death in a house that was had no one in it. He didn't _want_ to ask. Instead, he kidnapped the hurting Robin and brought him back to the Titans tower, surrounded by people who actually  _cared_ about his well being. The Bats may claim to be Tim's home, but Kon knew for a fact that the Titans were Tim's family. They knew about his darkest fears and strongest pains, how to make him laugh and happy. If it weren't for them, Tim would have been lost long ago.

Things got better again. Tim spent most of his time with the Titans, becoming a little distant with the family. None of them ever said anything, and he never brought it up. But then... that's when the worst of it all it came down.

Stephanie died, another one of his closest friends, empty and soulless. 

His dad was murdered, so bloodied that Tim could swim in the bright red endlessly.

Bruce was killed, the man he considered the closest thing he had to an actual parent, gone in the blink of an eye.

That all on its own would have been enough to break Tim, but it didn't stop. Damian, Bruce's son, the brat that's been tormenting the teen from the moment he's arrived, claiming that Robin was his birthright and that Tim was never meant to take on such a role, was chosen by Dick to be the new Robin. Dick, who Tim thought of as his older brother, ripped away the R from his chest like it meant nothing and put it in the hands of Damian al Ghul, all the while calling him crazy when he suggested that Bruce might actually still be alive.

Tim remembered... well, it was really hard to tell the difference between what he really  _remembered_ and what he  _felt._  He remembers the words coming out of Dick's mouth, remembers his brother telling him that he was giving Damian the R, the only thing keeping him above water, the only thing that hadn't changed after his life started drifting. After that, his ears starting ringing, the harsh white noise drowning out the rest of whatever Dick had to say, but Tim didn't care. All he could see was the R of the Robin tunic being torn to shreds right in front of his very eyes, Dick's normally kind blue eyes cruel and unforgiving as he ripped it to pieces, snarling like he was looking at a rotten corpse. Damian was in behind him, his mouth twisted into a terrible, awful grin.

 _"What's wrong, Drake?"_ the boy had teased, venom flowing from his words.  _"Realizing you were never wanted in the first place? Realizing you were just a placeholder until someone worthy came along?"_

At one point, that image changed into the halls of the Wayne Manor, the walls and pictures that usually comforted him now close in and suffocating, his chest tightening as the very house seemed to squeeze around him. The ringing in his ears was still there, his pace never once changing as the voices in his head whispered at him from behind shadows and furniture. 

_Useless. How did you think you could ever become Robin?_

_Dick was right to take the R away. After all, Damian is obviously made for the role._

_Only a placeholder, a replacement until someone better came along, just like Jason's always told you._

_No one cares that you're leaving. In fact, they **want** you to leave. _

Tim stopped in front of the front door as the voices reached a crescendo, wondering what kind of pain he would experience now that everything stable in his life had collapsed. Would anyone even care? What if he just fell into a ditch and never appeared again, his body found years later as nothing more than a half rotten skeleton?

The teen numbly opened the door and stepped out, instantly getting soaked head to toe in cold, piercing rain. He hadn't even realized it was raining, and he couldn't find it within himself to care at all. The cold didn't even register on his skin, and the feeling he know  _should_ be rain wasn't. If he hadn't have seen the water dripping from his long hair, then he might not even have known the rain was there in the first place. Tim walked steadily, his arms not swinging by his sides. He was vaguely aware of his shoes filling up with mud and water, but couldn't bring himself to care. There was no pain, no feeling, he realized... just... nothing. 

Nothing in the place where his heart was supposed to beat.

Nothing on his skin where he was supposed to feel.

Nothing in his head but white noise and washed out voices.

This was wrong. There was supposed to be pain, supposed to feel something so consuming that he couldn't breathe, couldn't function. This... this was just  _numbing._

Tim walked further into the night with no destination in mind, unsure and uncaring of where he was. He couldn't care about anything at all.

There was too much nothing to care.                          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading! Feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> ~Magical_Devil_Alex


	2. Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support this has gotten so far! By the way, you should check out the song that this fic is named after, See What I've Become by Zack Hemsey. It's really good and really sets the type of tone I want in this fic.

Kon-El was used to worrying about Tim. As the only human on the Titans,  _all_ of them always worried about him, even if he's proved time and time again that he could hold his own when it came down to it. The thing was, Kon wasn't worried about his boyfriend not being able to protect himself from enemies trying to physically attack him, no; the half Kryptonian was worried about Tim not being protected from  _himself._ He was worried that one day something inside the teen would snap and he would try and kill himself again, and this time Kon wouldn't be able to stop it. It was a subject that haunted his nightmares more than he would like to admit, seeing Tim's pale, lifeless body slumped onto the floor like a ragdoll, his blue eyes staring into nothing-

He didn't like to think about the nightmares, however relevant they might be. Honestly, the half Kryptonian was just eagerly waiting for when Tim would come back to the Titans Tower, even if the teen was currently in Gotham grieving for his dead mentor. 

Gods, it still felt impossible that Batman, the Dark Knight and the world's greatest detective, was dead. Just  _thinking_ it felt like taboo, even if the logical side of Kon's brain told him that Batman was only human. Just like Tim was.

"You're doing it again."

Kon's eyes looked up from where he was sitting on the couch in the giant living area, seeing Cassie staring back at him. He must have been really out of it if he didn't hear her enter, after all, the Amazon was never the greatest at stealth, something they both had in common. She looked sad, he realized, even if her mouth was upturned in a gentle smile. Her eyes didn't agree with the sentiment, didn't light up with the rest of her face. It was something Tim did often when he thought he was fooling Kon with how he really felt, but Kon's always been particularly good at looking right through Tim's bullshit. If the teen was there, he would tell the half Kryptonian that it took one to know one, but he wasn't. 

Kon raised an eyebrow at Cassie, hoping he looked more relaxed than he felt. He never relaxed much whenever Tim wasn't around, especially if he was worried about him, which was pretty much all the time at this point. His boyfriend  _had_ been getting better, but with Bruce dying... it was hard to tell.

"And what would I being doing, exactly?" Kon said in a slightly teasing tone. Cassie didn't seem to appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood.

"Worrying about Tim," she replied with bluntly, crossing her arms. "I know you always do it, but you're doing it extra hard now. You look like you're trying to take a shit." The Amazon said it with such seriousness than Kon let out a short chuckle, crossing his arms in turn.

"I know I probably shouldn't worry since he's in Gotham and all but I just..." the half Kryptonian trailed off, not sure what to say. He didn't want to be the over protective boyfriend that refused to let their significant other do things, but he couldn't help the desire to simply wrap Tim in his arms and keep him there forever, never letting the outside world see him. He's almost always felt that desire, but in the past year its grown stronger and stronger.

Cassie sighed, sitting down next to Kon on the couch. She kept her gaze straight head, but he could still feel her intensity. "I know what you mean, Kon. We  _all_ know what you mean, we _all_ worry about him. He should be safe in Gotham with the rest of the Bats, but... I don't like him being there. I don't like him being surrounded by people who don't seem to care about his well being," the Amazon stated with a hint of frustration in her voice. "I want him back in San Fran as much as you do, but we need to give him time to mourn Bruce. It's the least we can do."  

Kon nodded, cranning his head back so that it rested on the frame of the couch. For a few minutes, there was nothing but comfortable silence between the two heroes, the darkened atmosphere that the half Kryptonian hadn't noticed before fading away. It was nice to have someone who cared, Kon thought. Someone who you could just  _talk_ to.

How long did it take Tim to find someone like that?

Bart took that exact moment to burst into the room, vibrating from excitement and joy. Kon looked up at the speedster, unable to stop a grin from growing on his face at the sight of his best friend so happy. 

"Tim's back!" Bart cheered before disappearing from the room once more. Without even thinking Kon stood up, hovering in the air and just about to fly as quickly as he could to see his boyfriend-

-when Cassie's strong hand gripped his arm. The half Kryptonian looked down at it in question, opening his mouth to ask why in the world would she stop him from seeing Tim.

"I thought Tim said he would be back in two weeks," she said slowly, eyebrows furrowed together. Kon still couldn't see what the problem was.

"So? Sometimes he gets the days wrong, no big deal."

"Kon," the Amazon whispered intensely. "It's only been  _three days."_

 

 

In all honesty, Tim doesn't really remember how he got to the Titans Tower all the way in San Francisco on the West Coast even though he was at Gotham on the East Coast. And really, in all honesty, he didn't care either. He had vague memories of finding his car parked on the foot of Wayne Manor's long driveway, getting into it and just driving. Did he drive all the way here?

But that would mean he drove for over a day and a half without stopping. 

A day and a half without stopping for gas, food, a bathroom or sleep.

Oh well. At least the car had designs that made it fuel efficient and drive itself. 

The Titans were here. Kon was here. Those two things should have made him happy, should have given him a reason to go inside, but all he did was stand there and look off into nothing of the night sky. He didn't  _care._

Would Dick give Damian the Titans now that he was Robin? Would his once brother go so low and take away the one thing he still had a weak,  _desperate_ grip on? Would any of the Titans even  _care?_

Kon might care. Kon  _should_ care, seeing as he was Tim's boyfriend and all. But the Super might look at him, see he wasn't a hero anymore, and throw him to the side like everyone else. No one cares about Tim unless he's useful, and without Robin, the teen knew he was worse than worthless. The child no one wanted, the brother no one wanted, the hero no one wanted.

He should feel emotion, thinking these things. They always had in the past, but now... nothing. The thoughts just appeared in his head, his body refusing to process it, like they were a disease it had long ago learned to live with. In Tim's mind, it  _was_ a disease, festering in him for as long as he could remember, ready to consume him. In some weird, twisted way, he prefered the numbness to actually feeling. It makes everything else easier.

"-im? Tim, are you listening to me? Tim-"

Oh, would you look at that. Someone was talking to him. He really should be paying attention to that. But he couldn't. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the Titans Tower and just how tall it was. He knew how to get to the very top, every roof access coming to his mind, but Kon, Cassie, Raven, and maybe even Gar could just fly him to the top as well. They would do so happily, and when he jumped off they would let him, glad to be finally free of his leadership. They would accept Damian with open arms, eager to call him their leader. He would make a better Robin than the teen ever could.

"Tim? Honey, what's wrong? Come on, look at me-"

Kon was right in front of him, cupping his face gently and tilting it up to meet his eyes, which were concerned and fond all at the same time. "You've been standing here for nearly twenty minutes, Tim," Kon said slowly, rubbing small circles into his cheeks. "Let's get you inside, alright?"

The Super began guiding him towards the Tower, making his moves slow and careful as if not to startle Tim. As the teen followed, he could make out the others that were around him, all with the same concerned look on their face. Even Raven, whose face was normally impassive and expressionless, seemed to be dripping with worry. She could probably feel his emotions, which to say, were nothing. It made a cracked grin briefly appear on Tim's face, but it disappeared before anyone caught it.

The next tim Tim blinked, he was inside the Tower, one of the common rooms by the look of it. All of the Titans were tensely sitting on the various furniture in the room, all staring at him like he was a piece of glass ready to shatter. Fortunately for them, he's already shattered. What they saw were the shards that had yet to be blown away, reflecting a poor version of himself that had never really been whole in the first place. 

"Tim? You in there?" Bart whispered, sounding down right terrified. It was odd to see the speedster so disturbed by anything, but the red head was vibrating in a manner that Tim knew meant he was ready to bolt at any moment, whether it be to run away or protect.

"Something happened in Gotham," Raven said. It wasn't a question, more like an observation than anything. "Something happened with  _them."_

There was a murmur that rippled through the room, the tension building like a stretching rubber band. "I could be something else," Gar came in shakily, but even then it sounded like a weak claim. "Maybe he's just mourning-"

"No." Cassie shook her head, effectively dismissing Gar's words. "He wouldn't be here so much earlier that he told us if nothing was wrong. He came back for a  _reason."_

Tim should be frustrated that they were talking about him like he wasn't five feet away, but in reality, his mind had long wandered from the conversation. Their voices were just echoes in the back of his mind, unimportant and irrelevant. Instead, his mind kept coming back to something he had to do, something he  _must_ do.

Bruce was alive. He didn't care if Dick called him crazy and threatened to throw him into Arkham, he knew it deep down that Bruce was still alive somehow, and he also knew deep down that there was no way he could find and bring him back alone. If he could do it before Damian came to claim them, did it before he was thrown out, did it before he was no one's problem anymore, the Titans could help. They had to, right? All they needed to do was grant him this one last request and never have to see him again, and that's all Tim wanted.

Something squeezed the teens hand, and when he looked down he saw Kon's much larger hand intertwined with his own firmly. This should feel good, he thought to himself, staring at their hands. He  _wanted_ it to feel good, wanted to feel  _anything_ besides this cold, aching numb that prevented him from even feeling the warmth of his boyfriend's hand.

Tim looked up to meet Kon's bright eyes, which were much closer than he previously believed. As far as Tim knew, Kon hadn't said anything to contribute to the conversation, something that was very unlike him. What was he thinking, Tim wondered; why did he ever look at me and decide I was worth loving?

"Bruce is still alive," Tim blurted out, instantly stopping whatever conversation had still been going on. All of the Titans, including Kon, who he never looked away from, stared at him in shock. If Tim didn't know any better, he'd think that he's grown a second head.

"Bruce is still alive," the teen said again, trying not to notice how scratchy and thin his voice sounded. Not much of a fearless leader, are you?

The silence in the room continued for many long moments, no one even daring to breathe too loud as if to disturb it. Very rarely was the Titans Tower ever so quiet, especially for so long. Then, all at once, it shattered.

"Tim that can't be right-"

"You held his  _body,_ Tim, I watch him be  _buried-"_

"I know you're still mourning-"

"Is this why you're so upset-"

Tim said nothing in response, feeling whatever little bit of hope he had left in his soul vanish with a silent hiss. They didn't believe him. They thought he was crazy, just like his so called family, just like his father, just like everyone else who ever had the unfortunate pleasure to set their eyes on the monstrosity that was Tim Drake. Why did he expect them to believe any words that came out of his mouth? Especially with something so far fetch and impossible? He thought that they would follow him to the end of the world, but like everyone else, they pushed him away the second he stopped being useful.

The teen looked away from Kon, who still hadn't said anything, ignoring the half Kryptonian's noise of pain. What pain did someone who was literally invulnerable have to feel? Someone who could come back from the dead?

"We did think Kon could be alive either," Tim snapped harshly, once again silencing everyone else's voices. "And incase you forgot,  _I_ held his body too,  _I_ buried him too. Bruce is alive."

"But Tim," Cassie insisted softly, "Kon is part Kryptonian. Bruce, I hate to say it, is only human. There's no way he could still be alive."

Tim didn't blink as he stared at the Amazon, wondering if she would accept his offer to run him through with her sword. Probably not, seeing as heroes weren't supposed to kill and whatnot, but maybe she would just lend it to him for this one time. He was never the best at blade based weapons, but he was positive he could figure it out pretty quickly. Damian would be pleased to find out that his life ended on the wrong side of a blade, at least. 

_Later,_ Tim promised himself, letting his body sag as if coming to terms with his grief. If there was one thing his mother left behind in him, it was the words she ingrained in his mind since he was a little boy: pretend, fake it all, and everyone will fall at your feet. He's always acted in one way or another, whether it be in the classy persona of Timothy Drake-Wayne or the snarky one of Robin, but he was neither of those now. It was surprisingly easier, pretending to be what you're not when there are no feelings to drag you down, to fill you with guilt and fear. 

"Can... c-can I just sleep for a while? Please?" Tim begged in a shivering voice, leaning against Kon when the half Kryptonian put and arm around him in a half hug. It was so easy to drop his gaze to the floor, pretend that he couldn't keep going, pretend that he was seeing reason to his mentors death and that he was still mourning. It was all  _too_ easy. What would his mother say if she saw him now? Would she finally be proud of him, find him worthy enough of her precious time?

Tim didn't see it but he could feel the sympathy rolling of the Titans in waves, allowing himself to go nearly limp as Kon steadily stood up, moving his arm from around his shoulder to his waist. He turned to bury his face in Kon's shirt and wrap his arms around his the half Kryptonian's thick torso, making it so that his body trembled ever so slightly. 

More words were spoken, though Tim couldn't find it within himself to listen to what they were saying. Kon was talking at one point, he could tell because of the deep rumble in the Super's chest, before he starting walking with Tim practically in his arms. The teen knew they were heading towards their shared room, but he let Kon guide him as if he was a newborn dear, never once looking up from the darkness the half Kryptonian's chest. 

The second he heard a door click shut behind him, Tim looked up, his neck straining from the effort it took to look straight up at someone so much taller than he was. Kon's eyes were always so beautiful; glowing and warm, like they were little pieces of the sun that gave Kon his powers. 

It was too bad that this would be the last time Tim ever saw them.

The Super sat on the bed in the middle of the room, adjusting Tim so that he was sitting on his lap. Tim sighed, as if content and comfortable with their current positions. The teen raised his hands, placing them on the sides of Kon's neck and tilting the half Kryptonian's head down to look him in the eye. Kon's face lit up with a small smile, whispering, "hello there," with a hint of teasing his voice. Tim smiled back, pressing a kiss to Kon's lips so that he wouldn't have to keep it for long. The Super's always been able to read him so easily, and he wasn't completely sure Tim's act would fool him at all. But that was alright. He could fool Kon for one more night.

The teen quickly turned the simple kiss into something more, tilting his head to the side and running his fingertips through Kon's scalp, unable to appreciate the softness of the short strands. The Super groaned, cupping Tim's head closer and caressing Tim's waist, shifting further onto the bed. This wasn't anything they hadn't done before, the making out and petting, but that's not what Tim wanted tonight. If he only got Kon one more time before he was taken away by Damian, before Tim had to go find Bruce, then he wanted to make it last.

Tim broke away from the kiss, beginning to bite his way down Kon's neck, listening to the shaky intake of air coming from the half Kryptonian's nose. "I want you," Tim admitted, like it was the hardest thing he's ever said in his life. In many ways, it was. Kon's the one whose wanted sex since the beginning of their relationship, even if he never said anything about it. The Super was completely willing to let Tim set the pace, never once taking it further without Tim's approval. 

Now though, he could feel Kon's hesitation radiating from every pore. 

"Are you sure? I don't-"

_"Please,_ Kon," Tim interrupted, looking up from his neck to give the saddest eyes he could force himself to make. "Make me forget,  _please_ make me forget."

For a moment, Kon did nothing, and then he was kissing Tim again, more passion and heat behind the movement of his lips. Tim sighed, letting his mouth fall open as the half Kryptonian's tongue ask to enter, feeling his face begin to flush as the Super turned them over to press Tim into the bed. 

For one night, Tim told himself as Kon caged him in with his arms, trailed his lips down the teen's neck with gentleness that shouldn't be able to come from someone so effortlessly strong. He might not be able to feel the way he supposed to, feel none of the passion he pretended to have, but that was alright. It was all for Damian, for Dick, for Alfred and Steph and the Titans and Bruce. It was for them, so he could pretend.

After all, what else were you supposed to do when you're desperate?           


	3. Desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Tam Fox. And making people cry.

Tim never falls asleep. He should have been able to, seeing as up to that point he had been awake for nearly two days straight and was exhausted both mentally and physically, but he didn't. He couldn't focus on the comfort around him; the soft, consuming sheets tucked securely around his body, Kon's warm arm and chest wrapped across his waist and back, the soothing sounds of the half Kryptonian breathing slowly. It should have been a combination that put him out instantly, but it didn't. Instead, he pretended it did.

He gradually slowed and deepened his breathing, relaxing every muscle in his body until he was limp in Kon's arms, kept his heart a steady rhythm that could fool even a Kryptonian. He stayed like this even after Kon fell asleep, not chancing his sensitive ears alerting him that something was wrong.

For three hours Tim laid there and waited, waited until he was certain all of the other Titans were in bed, certain that they were asleep or at the very least out of the way. He couldn't risk running into one of them and trying to explain what he was doing up so late. That would only put a dampener on his plans.

Three hours gave Tim a _lot_ of time to think, to think about the things he could've done better, the relationships he could've tried to repair, but he forced himself to stay away from those thoughts. If he allowed them to take over his mind, he would be worse than useless, paralyzed by his own body and missed opportunities. No, he had to focus on how he was going to save Bruce, one of the few people in Tim's life that had ever given him a purpose. It started out simple enough, the people he was going to contact, the places he would need to go, the favors he would need to complete, but then he wondered: why stop there? Why stop at simple bringing Bruce back? What if he could do  _more,_ something that would make sure the world he left behind stayed safe? Batman was the world's greatest detective, but he was only one man that kept making the same mistakes over and over again, never learning no matter how much he improved. He fought the same villains day in and day out without stopping, refusing to put them away for good. Batman may not kill,  _can't_ kill, but Tim knew that there was more than one way to permanently take someone down.

A plan began to form in Tim's mind, one much more intricate and complicated then the one before. By then end of his planning, an odd sense of peace fell over the teen, one that he's never felt before. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was like his blood had thawed ever so slightly, just enough for him to feel the warmth of his own soul. He's never felt and ease like this before, so confident and secure. 

By the end of his plan, he will have broken all of Batman's most sacred rules. Every hero he's admired his entire life will see him as a villain, unredeemable and a lost cause, a victim of his own chaotic mind. They'll mourn the loss of a promising hero, but they would soon forget about him once he was gone, just like everyone else. They would see him in a different light, think him broken. They won't be wrong.

But as Tim's said before, he's desperate. He's desperate to bring Bruce back, desperate to make the world a better place, desperate to disappear forever. 

If all of that meant becoming a villain... well, at least he could say he had his reasons. 

After all, everyone knows the most dangerous man is the one with the most desperation in his actions. 

 

 

Kon woke up cold, which was weird. As a Kryptonian (or part, at least) his body runs hotter than the average human's does, making it easy for him to live in subzero temperatures. So why did he feel so  _cold,_ so  _empty?_

The Super slowly opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly at the place where Tim should've been. Logically he knew that Tim usually got up before he did, but this one time he really hoped that wouldn't be the case. As far as Kon was concerned, the teen desperately needed some early morning cuddles, and he would get them, one way or another. 

Kon sat up in the bed, stretching some muscles that had cramped in the middle of the night. Gradually he got out of bed, put on his normal clothes, and walked out of the room. He had a feeling that Tim was probably in the kitchen feeding his ever growing obsession for coffee, so he made his way there, saying good morning to the various Titans already up. 

_(Why did he still feel so cold?)_

"Morning, Kon!" Gar greeted as a bird flying through the hallway. "Having breakfast in bed again?"

The half Kryptonian shrugged, slightly confused at Gar's comment, but kept walking. He was almost all the way to the kitchen when he ran into Cassie, quite literally at that. The two Titans quickly recovered, chuckling at the surprise. "Geez, Tim's still in bed?" Cassie asked, walking into the kitchen with Kon, who froze at her words. Something wasn't right, he was realized. He thought back to Gar's earlier comment, how he thought that the Super would be having breakfast in bed with Tim.

"You haven't seen him?" Kon questioned, his hands tightening themselves into fists before he was able to calm them. It was probably nothing, he told himself, taking a deep breath. He shouldn't overreact to something like this, but his instincts were going haywire, messing with his logic. 

Cassie furrowed her eyebrows, looking back at Kon. "No, and as far as I know, no one has. I don't even think anyone has been in the kitchen all morning- Kon where are you going-"

But the half Kryptonian barely heard her, instead flying as quickly as he could to the top of Titans Tower, unable to stop the panic rising up in him. He did his best to silence his breathing, listening as intensely as he could for the familiar sound of Tim's heartbeat, the rhythm he knew and could recite by heart. After a solid minute, he was left with nothing, and the panic reached a crescendo like he never knew it could. Without realizing it the Super began flying in and out of the Tower, searching every room secret panel that he knew of, startling many of his teammates. He couldn't stop to answer their questions. All he could force himself to do was hope that Tim was still there somewhere, that he got something wrong,  _anything_ to prove that his boyfriend was still safe with them. He couldn't bare to think of the alternative.

When Kon came to his room, he stopped dead in the middle of it. Right on his bedside drawer, where he hadn't noticed it before, was a small piece of white paper. The Super floated to the ground, taking painfully slow steps towards the drawer. Even without reading it he knew it was from Tim, and he couldn't help but notice how the cold feeling from earlier had grown, making his heart beat painfully in his chest.

Kon shaking fingers picked up the seemingly innocent piece of paper, unable to do anything but look at Tim's beautiful script for several minutes. When he finally got the courage to read it, he felt tears burning behind his eyes, the paper swaying to the ground as he let go, every muscle trembling too much to keep ahold of it. It was like his worst fears had come to light, and he had no idea how to face them. He thought... he thought after last night, after Tim trusted him so  _openly..._ well, he didn't know _what_ he thought. He should have seen the signs, should have seen  _something._

The words from the paper were scorched into his mind like he was reading them over and over, unable to see anything else. Even when his teammates finally found him and tried to ask the half Kryptonian what was wrong, all he could do was point to the note laying limply on the ground. 

_I have to do something. When it's done, I won't be the same person I was before._

_Don't try to find me. You won't. I made sure of it._

_I'm sorry... for everything. I'm sorry you had to deal with me, sorry you had to watch me fall apart._

_Don't worry about me coming back. You'll never see me again._

_-Tim_              

 

 

Dick Grayson supposed it was a normal enough morning, all things considered. Nothing has felt 'normal' since Bruce died, leaving a large hole in both the hero and human world's, forcing Dick to try and fill both. The thing was, he had no  _idea_ on how to fill both, how to play the fearsome Dark Knight and Damian's parent. He  _hated_ wearing that damn cowl and the boy... well, how do you try and raise a child that's tried to kill most of your family at some point? It wasn't Damain's fault, seeing as it was the League that had their hand at raising him for many years, but it was still going to be hard to try and get that killer instinct out of him. For the dozenth time, he told himself that making Damian Robin was a good thing, a stepping stone in making sure the boy grew up to be a good person.  

However... there were still some moments when he wondered if it really  _was_ a good thing. So many things could go wrong, Damian could kill somebody, or worse, he could get himself killed. He might have been raised an assassin, but he was still a boy with very little experience in the outside world. Everything would be new to him, and therefore, that much more dangerous. Tim at least had very good knowledge about the ins and outs of Gotham's streets and politics when he started off as Robin. Damian however had nothing except the fact that was Batman's son.

Would that be enough?

"You have that same look that Master Bruce used to get when he was stressed."

Dick looked up, smiling softly at Alfred as the butler put down a plate of eggs and toast. If there was anyone he could consistently rely on without a fail, it was good ole' Alfred. At this point Dick thought of Alfred as more of a grandfather than a butler, but that always seemed to happen with the Robin's that lived in Wayne Manor at one point or another. 

Hopefully Damian would be the same way, one day. As of now he didn't give much respect to the elderly man, but Dick would make sure that was fixed.

Speaking of Damian, the boy walked into the dinning room at that moment, his jade eyes in a permanent glare that always sweaped through the room he entered as if looking for a threat. Even after all the time he's spent here he was still looking for a reason to fight. Soon, he would find that reason. 

"Good morning, Grayson. Pennyworth," Damian said stiffly before sitting down in his normal seat, two chairs away from Dick. His eyes seemed to be glued to the table, a particularly nasty scowl crossing his features. 

"Good morning to you too, Master Damian," Alfred replied, putting down a plate for the boy. Damian didn't say anything else, but a small head nod indicated his thanks, and Dick couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. This was certainly better than what the boy had done only weeks ago. He was already improving. 

The rest of breakfast passed in somewhat comfortable silence, and though Dick desperately wanted to break that silence, he knew that in order to gain the boy's trust he would have to give him some form of control. If that meant silence during breakfast, then so be it.

As they both finished their meals, Dick prepared himself to ask Damian if he would like to go to the zoo this morning, knowing that the boy's great love of animals would persuade him. However, Dick never got the chance to ask Damian that question, seeing as his phone decided it wanted to ring at that moment. He sighed, hoping that it was someone that could wait until later, and saw Tam Fox as the caller ID. He debated for a few moment whether or not to answer, but ultimately decided that he didn't want to face Tam's wrath later for ignoring her. Plus, if she was calling instead of texting it was probably important. 

Dick accepted the call, leaning back and placing the phone to his ear. "Yello?"

_"What the **fuck** did you do?"_

Dick startled at the harsh tone of Tam's voice, to stunned for several seconds to answer. "What?"

The rage in Tam's voice dripped through the phone, making Dick cringe with every word she said.  _"Don't 'what' me, Grayson. What the_ ** _fuck_** _did you do to Tim, you bastard?"_

That was the moment Dick realized he needed to be alone to have this conversation, swiftly standing up from his chair and walking out of the room, ignoring Damian's look of confusion as he left. He was trying to process what Tam was telling him, but his mind was running blank. He knew that Tim left the Manor a few days ago, probably back to one of his safehouses if he had to guess, but the teen hadn't answered his phone when Dick called. He assumed Tim was still running WE seeing as the company was still functioning like nothing was wrong, but he hadn't gone to check himself. He had been too focused on Damian for a while now to think about anything else. 

"Look, Tam," Dick started, trying to stay calm. "I seriously don't know what you're talking about. Tim left the Manor a few days ago and I haven't heard from him since. Is everything alright?" A knot began forming in his stomach, rising into his throat. Something was really wrong, his instincts were telling him,  _screaming_ at him. How hadn't he noticed it before?

Tam scoffed.  _"I can't believe you, of_ ** _course_** _something's wrong. Do you want to explain to me why I just found a note from Tim telling me he had something he needs to do before he's gone forever with his letter of resignation attached to it? Or why I just got a call from the Titans telling me that Tim just showed up on their doorstep after driving to San Francisco for two days straight before just disappearing? Or maybe even why he was in San Francisco in the first place seeing as he had taken time off to stay at home and mourn Bruce's death with his **family?"**_

Dick said nothing, unsure how to respond. Every question felt like a punch to the gut, something he didn't know how to answer. He  _should_ be able to answer these questions, but he couldn't, not really.

"I..." Dick trailed off. "I didn't know-"

_"What do you mean **you didn't know?** About him disappearing? About him going to San Francisco? About him not being at the Manor? For god's sake, Dick, he's your  **brother."**_

"I know, it's just that with everything that's happened and Damian becoming Robin-" 

_"Wait a second,"_ Tam interrupted.  _"You made Damian Robin?"_

"Um- well yeah-"

_"Did you even bother to ask Tim about it?"_ Tam asked lowly.  _"Did you even fucking consider what he's going through right now?"_

"Tam, we're all going through a lot. I couldn't make Tim my Robin, he's my equal. Plus, Damian just lost his father and needs some sort of stability-"

_"Tim being your equal isn't the fucking_ ** _point,_** _Dick. The point is Robin was the last thing Tim had to hold onto!"_ Tam screamed at him, forcing Dick to move the phone away from his ear.  _"Use your damn brain for **five** minutes, Dick! Tim lost his father, his best friend, his mentor, all in less than six months after his boyfriend was killed and brought back. He needed Robin to keep him sane and from trying to kill himself again!"_

Dick's brain stopped as he tried to understand the words that just came from Tam's mouth. He most most of it, Tim's dad, Stephanie and Bruce's death, but who was Tim's  _boyfriend_ that died and came back? And trying to  _kill himself-_

"Wait, Superboy is Tim's  _boyfriend?"_ Dick demanded. Tam went silent for a minute, as if stunned by his question. 

_"You didn't know?"_

Now it was  _Dick's_ turn to be pissed. "No, I didn't fucking know! He never told me about that! And what's this about him trying to  _kill himself?_ You'd think after living with him for so long that I'd notice Tim being  _suicidal!"_

Both sides were quite after that. Dick was breathing heavily, unsure if it was from his outburst or from the tears that wanted to fall down his face. It was then he saw Damian out of the corner or his eye, every muscle frozen as if he was trapped in a painting. His green eyes were wide with... some emotion that Dick couldn't place.

"Yeah Dick," Tam finally said, her voice so sad that Dick really  _did_ start crying. "You'd think."

The line went dead from where she hang up. Dick dropped his hand, not caring about the tears dripping off his face, or even Damian seeing him like this. For the first time in a long time, Dick thought, really  _thought_ about what he knew about Tim Drake. His parents were Jack and Janet Drake. He found out who Batman and Robin were when he was only a child. He was the smartest person Dick has ever known, including Bruce. Ra's al Ghul had some creepy obsession with ever since Tim blew up one of his bases. His best friends were Bart Allen and Kon-El. He loved being Robin.

Tim tried to kill himself.

Kon-El was Tim's boyfriend.

Dick took Robin away from him.

Tim disappeared and no one has any idea where he is.

Dick lowered his head, admitting his own sort of defeat.

No matter how desperately he tried to convince himself, Dick Grayson knew nothing about Tim Drake.

 

 

It was a beautiful day, though Tim couldn't really find it within him to appreciate it like he should. It almost felt like a crime with how beautiful it was; the sky a bright, gleaming blue dotted with fluffy clouds, a gentle breeze caressing his hair, the sun warming his pale skin. It was perfect.

"You know, Detective, usually  _I'm_ the one waiting. This is certainly a role reversal."

Tim steadily turned around on the rooftop, facing Ra's al Ghul on the other end. As usual, the Demon's Head was dressed in his signature green and gold robes, his brown skin and dark hair without any imperfection, like he had taken a swim in one of his pits before coming here. If he had, it would have been no surprise to Tim in the slightest. 

The teen said nothing, only stared as Ra's blankly. In any other circumstance, he would have felt vulnerable and exposed standing in front of the Demon's Head without the Robin suit to protect him, but now, he didn't. All he had on him was his bo staff, securly tucked away in the folds of his clothing. Every other trace of his relationship with the Bats was gone, wiped from existence, accept maybe the name Ra's had started calling him. For as long as Tim could remember, the Demon's head had always called Batman Detective, but now, with him gone,  _Tim_ was given that mantle. Why he didn't know, but he had quickly stopped trying to convince Ra's to stop doing so. Clearly the immortal has his reasons, whatever they may be.

Ra's took a step forward, tilting his head to the side as he studied Tim. "So, why have you called me here? You sounded urgent."

That was a lie. When Tim hacked into the League's network to send a message, he had only said one thing: find me. The teen knew that with Ra's's increasing obsession for him that he would comply, and now it was time to put the first part of his plan in motion.

"Bruce Wayne is still alive," Tim stated distantly, like he was talking about someone whom he barely knew. "I need your help finding him."

Ra's raised both eyebrows, coming even closer to Tim. "And why do you believe you need my help?"

"You have the resources. You know more about death and rebirth than anyone on the planet. And, you think what I'm saying is true," the teen said bluntly, watching as Ra's mind worked through Tim's words.

"And if I  _do_ help you," Ra's says slowly, now gradually walking closer and closer until they were only a couple feet away. "What do I get it return?"

Tim stared into Ra's al Ghul's poison green eyes, wondering how he could have ever been so disturbed by this man. That's all Ra's was in the end, just a man with more power than anyone else he knew. Soon, all of that would change.

"I will join the League of Assassins, however you see fit. If you ask me to become your heir, I will." It was Tim's turn to step forward, and though he was nearly a foot shorter than the Demon's Head, he managed to make his presence larger than anything else in the world. "If you ask me to become your consort, I will. All you have to do is help me find Bruce Wayne and return him to Gotham where he belongs."

Tim could see the flash of possibilities and lust in Ra's's eyes, trembling with the thought of having Tim. The teen had no idea why Ra's was so intrigued with him, but now he realized just how simple it was to use it against him instead of fearing it. 

"This seems to be quite the hopeless move, Detective," Ra's nearly purred, like a cat who knew it was about to finally catch the mouse. Little did the cat know, however, that this mouse would swallow him whole. 

"Believe me, Ra's," Tim replied.   

"There was no other  _choice."_  


	4. Hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw someone mention something about doing fanart of this story and all I have to say is if you do, I will literally do anything for you. Like, that would make me the happiest person alive :)

Jason Todd was not one who listened to requests often, especially from those in his so called 'family.' Ever since the whole Battle for the Cowl fiasco, Jason's kept as much distance as he could between him and the other Bats, not wanting to see their faces at all. He knew that Dick was the new Batman (or course, because who else would it be?) and that the Demon Brat was now Robin, but that was about it. He didn't keep an eye on the Titans, but he'd bet that the Replacement was with them in San Francisco, maybe coming up with a new persona to do by. Another death, another Robin kicked out of the nest and replaced.

Jason might not often listen to requests, but very rarely do those requests come straight from Oracle hacking his secure lines. Usually the hacker left him alone and stayed out of his business, only talking to him when absolutely necessary. To have her directly hacking his phone at 8pm right before he went out and started his patrol was something Oracle has never done, but she's one of the few Bats that Jason will still talk to, so he lets it slide. He put the red hood in his hands down on a cracked glass table and picked up his phone, seeing Oracle's signature blurred outline that always appeared when she was talking on screen. 

"I'm guessing this is more than just a social call," Jason drawled, sitting his ass down on the old and stained sofa at this particular safe-house. It wasn't the best, but it worked just fine for his purposes.

"Dick's been trying to get a hold of you," Oracle stated bluntly, breaking the rules about saying names on the job, meaning she wasn't doing this from the Clocktower. No, this was  _personal._

Jason snorted at her words. "Yeah, I know. There's a reason I'm not responding, and you know that."

There was a pause from the other side, and then Oracle became Barbara Gordon, nothing to obscure her sharp green eyes and fire red hair. "Jason, he knows you guys aren't on the best terms, so he wouldn't be trying to contact you if it wasn't important. And it is."

Okay,  _now_ Jason was intrigued. What was so important that Goldie was using Babs' hacking network to get to him? 

"I don't read minds, Babs," Jason sighed, running a hand through the front of his hair. "You're gonna hafta tell me what's wrong."

And in that moment, she looked so  _sad_ that Jason started to realize just how serious this was. Babs bit her lip, looked away for a moment, before her eyes hardened again and she looked back at the man on the other side of the screen. "Tim's missing," she said, sounding like she was using every bit of strength she had to keep it together. "No one knows where he is, no one can find him, it's like he's never  _existed."_

Jason couldn't help the chuckle that came from his mouth, not even really caring that Babs was looking at him with a confused look on her face. "Itsa 'bout time," he said before his brain could catch up, somewhere inside him (the Pit, it was  _always_ the Pit-) felt delighted at the fact that the Replacement was gone, nowhere to be found. Why does Babs thing  _he_ should care? It's not like they were best buds last time they met, not like Jason didn't put put a gun to his head and a knife to his throat.

The confusion on Babs' face turned from confusion to anger within a millisecond, and she slammed her fist onto the table she was sitting at, causing Jason to jump. "God  _dammit,_ Jason! This isn't about your pathetic vendetta against Tim! This isn't really even about him disappearing in the first place!" she snarled. "It's about how much he kept from the family because we were too fucking ignorant to notice it!" She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Did you know Tim tried to kill himself?"

All the wires in Jason's head seemed to fry at the question.  _"What?"_

"Did. You. Know."

"What-shit- no, of  _course_ I didn't know! You're telling me  _you all_ didn't? Didn't he live at the Manor for a period of time? How the hell did no one notice he was  _suicidal_ if he lives in a place filled with the world's greatest detectives!?"

Babs sighed, all the anger going out in that one breath. "I've been asking myself the same question, and that wasn't even all of what he was hiding. According to the Titans, Tim's been on the edge of his mental stability since before he started working on the team. And he's been in a relationship with Superboy for nearly a year. And Dick thinks he knows why Tim is gone.

"When Damian became the new Robin, Dick didn't ask Tim about it at all. He just made the decision and told Tim. Before all that happened, Tim had told Dick that he thinks Bruce is alive, but Dick didn't believe him. After he left the Manor, Tim went to the Titans and tried to tell them the same thing, but once again none of them believed him. The next morning, he disappears, and the only legal papers we can find say he made himself an emancipated minor, so we don't have and jurisdiction to find him under the law. The only thing he left behind was a note that says we will never seen him again and that he has to do something before he disappears for good."

It didn't take a detective to figure that out. "Tim's going to look for Bruce."

Babs nodded. "That's the working theory right now. But I _need_ to know if you've seen Tim in the past few weeks, _anything_ from him. It could help us a lot."

_Damn_ that was a lot to take in. The Replacement was  _suicidal?_ He was dating  _Superboy?_ What the hell. So much for being detectives. 

"No, I haven't seen anything. I'll let you know if I do." Jason ended the call before she could say anything else, not sure if he wanted to hear her reply. All he could do was sit there and think about how many times he nearly killed the kid, how many times his blood stained Jason's hands. How many of those times did the kid nearly let him do it, let himself be killed because he was just  _done_ with the world?

Jason didn't go out on patrol that night.

Instead, he stared into the walls of his safehouse, wondering if anyone actually knew who Tim Drake was. After considering it for several hours, he came to the conclusion that no one probably did.

Well, at least Jason knew one thing. Tim Drake felt hopeless, just like the rest of the world. The only difference was that Tim Drake would do anything to suffocate that hopelessness into nothing but ash.

 

 

**ONE YEAR LATER**

 

 

One year can change a lot. Tim knows this theoretically, but reality is so much starker than his mind. It's not like his brain can come up with anything creative these days anyway, so reality often feels more like something from his wildest dreams and nightmares, rolled into one giant Hell that he can't escape. 

One year under Ra's al Ghul's Cradle, one year of being the Demon Head's apprentice, his underling, his right hand man. One year of being his lover.

It's not as bad as Tim expected, not from the stories he remembers Bruce telling him about the ruthless cruelty of the immortal man that found a sick, twisted obsession for him and him alone. Ra's never forces him to do anything, at least, that's the impression he gives you, but Tim knows better. He knows from the fire in Ra's's eyes, the nearly unseeable smirk on his lips, the gentle yet somehow harsh grip on Tim's hips as the taller man pulls him close. It all gives the illusion that this was something you wanted, but really, Tim didn't. But his mother taught him to be an actor, so an actor he would be. He'll flush when Ra's whispers in his ear, shiver at the large hands cupping his back, whine when teeth bite at his neck, grip tightly when the sweet pleasure turns into temporary pain. He'll do anything, because what the Demon Head doesn't know is that Tim was spinning his own illusion for him to fall into, his own illusion for him to have an imaginary 'choice.' 

Ra's thinks he's unbreakable, unbeatable. But he is still only just a man, and men fall for the same things over and over again. Money. Power. Love. Ra's already has enough money and power to never be tempted by it ever again, but he doesn't have love, not beyond the physical sense that Tim provides. He plans to change that.

So while Tim does all of those things to please Ra's and his illusion, Tim also does other things. He pretends to curl around Ra's when he falls asleep, he gives small smiles when they're alone, he casually brushes his arm against Ra's's for no reason whatsoever, he brings small gifts to Ra's's desk when he's not there. Everything meticulously put into place in order to make his illusion tighter and harder to ignore or resist, every action dragging the Demon's Head further and further into Tim's nonexistent love.  

By the time they find Bruce Wayne lost in time, the man almost feels like an afterthought, a small pawn in Tim's much larger plan. But Bruce is important to his plans, a pawn he must never forget, but a past he must try to ignore all the same. 

When Tim approaches Bruce Wayne, they're both on a rooftop, dressed in familiar yet distant clothing. Bruce is wearing the Batman suit, cowl pulled down and staring intensely at Tim. It was a look Tim was familiar with from his many years as Robin, how Batman would look at a situation with that same calculated look, examining every weakness and opportunity. When Tim had first come to Bruce about needing a Robin, the man had looked at him the same way, studying him like a puzzle he couldn't figure out. 

Bruce moves closer to him, the look on his face melting into a small smile, one that Tim emotionlessly copied. Without any warning, the Dark Knight hugged him fiercely, stunning Tim for many moments. The last time Bruce had hugged him... well, that had been before Damian. Before Bruce had 'died' and Dick became Batman. Before he was deemed obsolete and replaced with a newer, better version. Before his hope had run so thin that he bowed before Ra's al Ghul. 

Tim once again copied the motion, burying his head into Bruce's chest and trying not to think about how Ra's was safely watching this entire exchange from somewhere safe. Tim might have had a small growth spurt a few months ago, but he still only made it to right below Bruce's collarbone.

"I knew you would find me," Bruce whispered. "I knew it."

He didn't know how to reply to that. What do you say to the man that everyone else in the entire world thought was dead but really wasn't? How do you respond to the knowledge that that man specifically left behind clues for you to follow? Tim might not know, but the actor did.

"Of course I did," Tim said softly. "When I told you that I would look after you I meant it." That's what Bruce wanted to hear, he knew the man well enough to know.

After a few more minutes of the hug, Bruce pulled back, putting his hands on Tim's shoulders. "I seems you've had a makeover," he teased slightly, his head gesturing to what Tim was wearing. "I'm guessing you're not Robin anymore?"

Tim looked down at his outfit, trying to squash down the want to suddenly punch Bruce in the face. It wasn't his fault, he didn't know, it's alright. But he was right on the first thing: Tim  _had_ gotten a new makeover. A crimson tunic with an X of gold belts filled with gadgets, a long, black and red cape that reached his ankles, and the mask he held in his gantlet covered hands, a domino that covered all of his cheekbones and spread down to his jaw on the sides. Ra's had fondly been calling Tim, 'Nightingale,' whenever he wore this, the outfit specially made just for him. It was almost sweet, and if most definitely would have been romantic if Tim could feel anything. It didn't look too unlike the persona he had begun to craft for himself once upon a time, but once again, that was before everything else had happened. 

Tim shook his head. "Yeah, Damian has the cape now. This is... I'm not sure what," he shrugged, playing the lost but figuring it out card. "It's been a long year, lots has happened." Tim took a step back from Bruce, putting his mask back on before addressing the Dark Knight again. "There's a plane waiting to take you back to Gotham a few blocks west of here. Give everyone my regards." Not that they'll want them or anyway.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows together, closing the gap that Tim had just distanced. "Are you not coming back with me?"

He could practically  _feel_ Ra's al Ghul's eyes burning into the back of his skull, waiting for Tim's answer. Ra's promised to stay out of this part, the reunion of mentor and mentee, but Tim knew that if he left now after everything that's happened, Ra's would chase him and kill anyone who got in his way. No, he wouldn't kill Tim, because the Demon's Head thinks that he  _loves_ Tim, that his Nightingale will forever sing to him no matter where on Earth he might be.

But Tim didn't plan on leaving. He had too much work to do.

"Sorry, Bruce, but I can't. Not now, anyway," Tim gave his most trustworthy smile, practically seeing Bruce melt before his very eyes. "I promise you'll see me again one day, alright? I just have too many...  _things_ to figure out first. I need some time away." 

And just like before, Tim knew that Bruce would fall for it. Once upon a time, he had done the same thing, getting as far away from Gotham as humanly possible. At the end of the day, Gotham was still  _home,_ but sometimes even the most dedicated to her needed some time alone.

"Okay," Bruce said, accepting Tim's reasoning oh so easily. It was nearly pathetic to call him the world's greatest detective. "But before I leave, I want you to know something, Tim." The Dark Knight put his hands on Tim's shoulders again, forcing the young adult to look up at him. "I'm  _proud_ of you. Everything you've ever done, everything from the Titans to Robin to just being plain Timothy Drake-Wayne. Everything."

And for the first time since Dick took Robin away from him, Tim almost...  _felt_ something. If Bruce had said those words to him a year ago, Tim might have cried from pure happiness, to know that  _someone_ was  _proud_ of him, to know that he was  _wanted-_

But no. The coldness in his heart was still as frozen as ever. Bruce didn't know now, but soon he would find out that Tim didn't even have Wayne in his name anymore, and that Tim was just regular Tim Drake, son to nobody, wanted by no one. Once he found out, once he saw Jason and Dick and Damian again, he would forget all about Tim. It was only a matter of time, an inevitability that he's accepted long ago. 

And of course, if it meant executing his plan a little more easily, then having the Bats forget about him completely was the best thing that could happen to him. It shouldn't be that hard for them to do, all things considered. 

At that moment Tim replied with the closest thing he's come to a genuine smile in over a year, squeezing the hands on his shoulders with his own. "Thank you," he says, and this time, it doesn't feel like a lie, feeling like he's acting to play a part. "Thank you for everything you've done for me. You don't realize how much it means, but maybe one day you will. I hope so."

They hugged one last time, shorter than the first, but no less intense. Then, when Bruce pulled away, Tim watched as his former mentor pulled on the Cowl of the Bat, disappearing into the shadows of the night. He doesn't feel put off that he never said goodbye, and really, he prefers it that way. It means that Bruce thinks that one say they will meet again, and maybe that was true. Tim wished he has as much hope as the Dark Knight did. 

After another minute of Tim staring at the place where Bruce melted into, he gets a call from the comm in his mask. In one fluid motion he puts the domino on, smoothing it down his cheeks and pressing down to accept the call. He already knows who it's going to be before he answers it.

_"Nightingale,"_ comes the smooth, rich voice of Ra's al Ghul.  _"The Detective has found the plane and is now on route to Gotham. Everything has been put into place, just as you requested."_ Tim wondered if Ra's could hear the desperation in his own voice, hear how eager and impatient he sounded. It was like a dog doing everything it could to please it's master in return for a treat. Everything was falling into place perfectly.

Tim lets his voice become teasing. "Oh, so now  _he's_ Detective," he says cheekily, the humor in his voice obvious and warm. 

There's a chuckle from Ra's on the other side, light and relaxed, like all the tension had been suddenly drained from him.  _"Yes, well, I have decided that Nightingale suits you much more. So, has our deal been sealed, Timothy?"_

****Tim waited a moment, let the question drawl out to keep Ra's waiting. If the Demon's head was really as confident as he claimed to be, he wouldn't even be asking this question, knowing that Tim has and never would break the promises he makes. At least, for now. Soon, he tells himself, soon.

****"Of course, Beloved. The deal had been sealed a long time ago," is what Tim replies with before he disconnects the call, content to let Ra's think he as won, that he had the heart of Timothy Drake in the palm of his hands, something that he thought that could never happen. It reality, that was still true, but Ra's didn't know that. He would find out soon enough, when all the pieces were finally in place.

****For now, Tim made his way across rooftops to where he and Ra's agreed to meet.

****Soon, his vengeance would come out in full force all over the world.


	5. Vengeance

Tim never dreamed very much. Sure, he had nightmares like every other vigilante, but regular dreams that just appear and disappear night to night? Almost never, and now his brain didn't even seem capable of creating such things seeing that that there was no emotion to go with it. During his first year with Ra's al Ghul he never dreamed, only saw the inky black darkness of the void and his own soul. After they found Bruce and Tim officially became Ra's's lover... well, lets just say, Tim's never dreamed so much in his life.

Most of the time, he dreamed about the worst ways he could make those who hurt him suffer. He dreamed about slitting the Joker's throat open so wide that his head nearly toppled off, burning Captain Boomerang until he was nothing but bones, strangling Poison Ivy with her own plants, beating Harley Quinn to death with a bat, stabbing through Penguins heart with his own club, on and on until every one of Gotham's rogues made it to his deathly hands. 

But the villains weren't all he dreamed about. Sometimes it was the people he used to think about as family, the ones who hurt him more than any broken bone of bullet wound ever could.

He dreamed about drowning Janet Drake in her own bath, the fear in her eyes bringing him joy.

He dreamed about pushing Dick off a clift, Tim telling him with a smile that he wanted to watch him fly.

He dreamed about shooting Jason over and over with his guns, never making the final blow, simply watching him bleed to death while tied to a chair. 

He dreamed about trapping Damian in a room with no way out, leaving him there the gradually die of dehydration.

He dreamed about poisoning Cass, her eyes going wide when she realizes the mistake of accepting the chocolates from him.

He dreamed about bringing Steph back to life, only for her to watch everyone she's ever cared about die right in front of her, and then snapping her neck again.  

He dreamed about cutting Kon up with Kryptonite, his former lover wilting away like a plant in the desert. 

He dreamed about driving Bruce insane, about snaring the Bat in his own mind until he kills himself to get away.

He dreams about all of these things, so, so many things, but there was always one that came again and again, night after night, when everyone else faded away. Ra's al Ghul, who was soon so be his first victim. Ra's al Ghul, who trusted him more than he had trusted anyone in his entire long life. Ra's al Ghul, who has been a pain in Tim's side since he first started out as Robin, trying to take over the world, trying to destroy Gotham, the city he still cared for so much. Ra's al Ghul, the villain that somehow foolishly fallen in love with him, who Tim had wrapped around his fingers like a vice. 

Tim dreamed about watching Ra's's empire crumble to the ground, everything he worked so hard for, all reduced to nothing but ash on the bottom of his shoe. The look on his so called lovers face when he understands Tim's motives, understands why Tim reached out to him in the first place... nothing has ever made him feel so  _alive._

But what did it all mean? Tim didn't need to dream to come up with these scenarios, so what was his subconscious trying to tell him? That he enjoyed watching people suffer? That he would eventually hurt everyone that's ever met him?

No, he didn't think it was something that simple. It was more like... vengeance. 

Vengeance for never being enough, vengeance for always being the one left behind, vengeance for getting hurt over and over again with no one caring, everyone always looking in the other direction. It sounded childish, but for once in his life, Tim just wanted to be  _looked_ at for something other than a nuisance, other than a perfect soldier, other than a replacement, other than just a nobody. He wanted the world to finally realize he wasn't put here to be pushed around like a ragdoll, that maybe, just  _maybe,_ he actually meant _something._

If that meant becoming the very thing he swore to destroy... then vengeance was all he needed. He might not kill everyone he dreams about, but he knows that what he's about to do will hurt them, and there was no part of his heart that could find any emotion to care. Tim  _wanted_ them to hurt,  _wanted_ them to see what monster they've created, to see what he's become in finally letting go of their expectations. 

He didn't need Bruce's approval, Dick's care, Jason's legacy, Damian's belittling, Kon's love, or Ra's's obsession. He didn't even need Robin. All he needed was himself.

And what do you know, that knowledge, that  _revelation,_ it helped him take apart the world's largest and oldest empire, piece by tiny piece. It started off small in the beginning, the things he did, ever so slowly crescendoing until there was nothing, not even Ra's himself, could do about it. 

First, Tim began messing with parts of the League's network, changing certain parts of their code that shouldn't be messed with. It was minor, not so much so that it could be ignored, but minor enough not to think about twice when fixing it. After all, technology, no matter how reliable it was, could fail. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, and over all, nothing really came to be from it. The tech's fixed it, Tim improved the network, and everything was fine.

But then, it started to grow. Little errors turned into entire shutdowns, glitch code turned into viruses, all due to the careful 'improvements' Tim had placed in over months and months of work. It was fascinating to watch everyone scramble to figure out what was wrong, why portions of their most protected and valuable data was being simply deleted for no apparent reason at all. The best hackers in the League were put on the case by Ra's himself, and soon, they would find the solution to their problem.

Traitors within the shadows, hiding for years and years, plotting against the absolute power of the Demon's Head. At least, that was the conclusion they had found, the one that Tim lead them with meticulously placed footprints, all showing that the perpetrators of the deletion of important League data all had been going behind Ra's al Ghul's back for years. This was yet another step in defying him, but this time, they had made a mistake. This time, they had been caught.

Sophia Williams, Baptiste Caron, and Adaku Abara were all thrown into the League's prison immediately after the information was presented to Ra's, and the very next day they were put on trial. Nothing any of them said could prove their innocence, not after the hacker's had found years and years worth of evidence of the three conspiring together. All of them were sentenced to death. The sentence was to be carried out instantly.

At that point, Tim quietly excused himself from the room, and no one question his exit. Almost all in the League knew that the Bat's student was still not comfortable with killing, even if he never objected to it either. This was hardly the first time he's left the room during an execution, and probably wouldn't be the last. Just another part of Tim's perfectly crafted mask that no one could see through. 

Later, when Ra's returned to their shared chambers to find Tim on their bed, Tim asked, "did you make sure they suffered?"

The Demon's Head laid on the bed next to his lover, curling his arm around Tim's waist to pull him closer. "Of course, Nightingale," he replied. "Nothing else is expected for the death of a traitor."

"Might I ask what they did?" Tim questioned, relaxing into Ra's's hold, nuzzling into his chest. "I know they somehow messed with code and deleted certain data, but I have no idea what it was." Untrue. Tim knew  _exactly_ what was deleted, but he couldn't let Ra's know that. Instead, he'll play the part of a concerned lover, wanting to fix any mistake he could find. After all, these traitors somehow got past his specially made systems, so something must be faulty. 

Ra's's grip on Tim tightened, the slightest bit of anger coming off his body. "It was information on the Pits, Nightingale. They were deleting information on how to make them, where one could be made, everything of the sorts. I know you help improve our networks all the time, but I never gave you access to the ones about the Pits... mainly because I believed they were as secure as they could possibly be... but it seems that I was wrong."

Tim frowned, looking up at Ra's's face. "And why would that be, love?"

Ra's looked down to meet Tim's eyes, the poison green swirling thoughtfully. "Well, because the three that betrayed me were the lead scientists on the Pits. Only they had direct control and access of that network... and well, look where it got me."

Silence fell between them, and Tim knew this was the moment of truth. This was the moment he figured out whether or not months of work was finally going to pay off. "Would you give me at least a little bit of access to that network? I could help improve its security like everywhere else."

Ra's hummed, pressing a kiss to Tim's jaw. "I was thinking the exact same thing, Nightingale. I'll do so first thing in the morning."

And so, Tim fell asleep that night knowing that the first part of his plan had been put into place. Ra's's face met him in his dreams, blood dripping out of every pore and hole, the Demon's Heads dead eyes staring blankly at him.

Unknowingly, Tim smiled in his sleep. 

 

 

The next year passed without much incident. Accept for a few more traitors that were found to be working for Williams, Caron, and Abara, nothing was out of the ordinary. Business went on like usual, companies becoming shells for the League to work through, Gotham once again getting attacked and defending itself, Ra's growing one step closer to his dream of world domination. It was all very casual life, all things considering, but now with a few more ''traitors" killed and taken cared of, it was time to complete his next step.

Tim was rather knowledgeable about the Lazarus Pits before he became Ra's's lover, but now, as lead scientist and programer for the Pits, he had all the information he could ever want on them. He knew every single weakness, location, possible locations, and much, much more. Over the course of a year and a half Tim went to one Pit to another, ever so skillfully planting explosives and traps that he had programmed the systems to ignore. He did the same for the possible places the Pits could be created, disguising it as a scouting mission for Ra's. No one ever suspected him of anything, and with his patience, Tim finally had all of the Lazarus Pits under his thumb, all ready to be destroyed at a moments notice. Not even the ninjas that guarded the Pits would be spared. When Tim was done, nothing would be left of Ra's's most precious resource, the reason his empire was so powerful to begin with.

But he couldn't destroy them now, not with so many pieces still out of place. There was more people to frame, programs to be put in place, messages to be sent out. 

The next thing he did after setting up all the Pits to explode was send a letter to Talia. Even though he's been with the League for over three years at that point, he rarely saw her at all, and when he did, she always glared at him like he was something nasty. It slightly amused Tim, wondering if somehow Talia was the only one who could see through his act.

The message he sent was quick and to the point.  _If you want to live to see your son become an adult, never connact Ra's al Ghul again._  Talia might not be the most saintly person in the world, but Tim had no quarrels with her. All she had to do was stay out of his way, and everything would be fine. He didn't need to add another variable to an already jumbled mix, so hopefully Talia would stay away, at least for now.

The next year became the year everything fell into place. The League cut off their ties to several organizations once it had been found that they had been smuggling League secrets through spies, which were promptly found and executed on the spot. Once again, no one suspected that Tim was somehow involved, not with no evidence to state otherwise. In fact, many of the so called spies confessed to their guilt. No one found out that Tim had been blackmailing those who confessed to a crime they didn't commit.

Tim began to slowly poison Ra's, only putting in milligrams of the eliquor he made himself in the Demon Head's tea and food. It was specially designed to work in stages so that the body would never grow used to it, all without the immune system realizing something was wrong in the first place. There was something poetic about Ra's gradually growing weaker and weaker to a poison he didn't even knew existed, how his life was literally at Tim's fingertips. 

Because of the poison now in Ra's's veins, the Demon's Heads mind became distant and slow, all of his previously strong leadership skills fading away until he hardly even left the room he and Tim slept in, giving all the power over to his lover. Tim used this power to kill the last few people that needed to be disposed of, all of which either had knowledge on the Lazarus Pits or were specially hired to go undercover for League missions. He didn't need them sneaking out and revealing his plot to the outside world, not when he was so  _close._

For his last piece, Tim created a virus, one that would set off the League alarms in the Pits while simultaneously destroying all of the information the League has ever possessed over its centuries of life. Every ninja and soldier near the pits all over the world would be flooding to protect them, not knowing that they would soon be trapped inside, never to come out of the earth ever again. 

At the sound of the alarm, Ra's came out of their room for the first time in months, racing as fast as he could to the base of the Cradle, where the largest Lazarus Pit laid. Tim wasn't far behind, his cape blowing out behind him. The guards were scrambling around as well, but Tim ignored them, focusing on the prize that was only minutes away from his hands. 

Ra's entered the Cradle, his brown skin glowing with the emergency lights. He was much paler than he had been a year ago, the muscles of his body weak and thin. He was vulnerable, more vulnerable than anyone had ever seen the Demon's Head before. As far as Tim was concerned, it would be that way for all time. 

Tim locked the entrance to Cradle, making sure none of the ninjas could come in, trapping Ra's in with him. The Demon's Head turned to face him, confusion clearly showing on his face, something that he would have never done if the poison in his heart wasn't there. 

"Nightingale, what are you-"

In and instant Tim unsheathed his bo staff, hitting Ra's across the face so hard that the man went flying, almost to the edge of the Lazarus Pit. "Don't call me that," Tim said emotionlessly, letting the mask he had worn for nearly four years slide right off his face. Tim slowly walked up to Ra's, watching as he pathetically gasped in pain, and tried to stand up, only to fall back down when Tim pushed on his chest with his foot.

"You know, Ra's, there are many days when I still can't believe you fell for it. Fell for  _me,"_ he pressed harder on Ra's's chest, listening to the whimpers with a sick twist of enjoyment. "Were you really that desperate for human contact, so desperate for love that you would so willingly welcome me into your bed? After everything you've done to me, did you really think that I would fall in love with you?

Tim knelt down so that they were nearly eye to eye, pressing his bo staff against Ra's's throat. "Or maybe you knew I was playing you the entire time, knew that one day it would all come to this. But why would you throw away everything you've worked so hard for, all for me? Surely there must be another reason you let me manipulate you and your empire for so long."

The Demon's Head said nothing, and for whatever reason, that sparked a deep anger in Tim's chest. This was not how his dreams imagined this moment for so long, not the screaming, murderous Ra's that was trying so desperately to stop him. Ra's was just... accepting of his defeat, like he didn't care that everything was about to fall apart into tiny little pieces. Even with the poison, he shouldn't be like that, there should be  _something..._ not this... not this...

_Nothing._

Tim pressed his staff harder into Ra's's throat, choking the man with fiery rage that he hasn't fel in  _years._ "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!" Tim yelled, bringing out the remote that would blow everything up, the remote that would cripple the League of Assassins passed the point of recovery. "I'M ABOUT TO RUIN _EVERYTHING!_ I'M ABOUT TO MAKE SURE YOU NEVER COME BACK  _AGAIN!"_

Still, Ra's said nothing, and that broke something in Tim. All of his hard work, and still, no one cared. 

_But that was fine. The dead don't need to care._

****Tim relaxed his bo slightly, cradling the Demon Head's face in his hands, like they were still lovers somehow. "Goodbye," Tim said simply, all the anger that was just there gone like a snuffed out candle. "I bet Hell has a special place made right beside each other."

****With a smooth twist and a sharp crack, Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, ruler of the League of Assassins, was dead. He would never be coming back.

****Tim stared at Ra's's lifeless body for a long time, trying to find any sort of feeling in his heart. There should be something now, right? After all, this was the first time he's directly killed someone with his own hands, the first time which he saw the intimate light leaving someone's eyes as he brought it all to an end. He's officially broken Batman's no killing rule, something he used to worship.

There was nothing. Not even the vengeance, which has burned inside him for so long, seemed to respond. Everything was silent. 

He stood up, letting the body drop to the ground limply, like a marionette. He then began walking towards the secret exit of the Cradle, the one that would lead him to the outside world and to a helicopter that would be ready to help him make his escape. Most of the ninjas should be trapped in various Pits around the world right about now, and those who weren't would be scattered to the wind once they found out everything was gone. 

Tim didn't even see himself open the secret door, but he did hear it slam behind him. He didn't react to it, instead wondering if the darkness inside himself was normal for a killer, a murderer, someone who was about to be responsible for the death of thousands. He didn't really know, but he really didn't care, either. He welcomed that darkness, finding it much easier to fall into than the nothing. At least now, there was something to catch him, to surround him.

He turned on the helicopter, the wind blowing everything around him. Once he was a good distance away from the Cradle, the place he's called home for so long, he pressed the button on his remote. Instantly, the palace turned into a fireball, and all around the world, Lazarus Pits would be doing the same thing. There was nothing left for the League of Assassins to call their own. 

As Tim flew off into the horizon, he allowed his soul to become one with that darkness that's always been there, waiting to be unleashed.

After all, there was still so much work to be done.                       


	6. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a lot of people have been asking about the Titans and Batfam during the time that Tim is with the League. Well, a lot of this chapter will be about that, guest starring one of my favorite support characters in all of DC comics, Commissioner Gordon. I just love him a lot :)

Here's the thing when it came to the Bats of Gotham: Jim Gordon didn't know everything about them, not in the slightest. People tended to have that misconception about him, that somehow working more closely with the Bats meant that for whatever reason they go spilling all their secrets to him. It was a frankly stupid idea that they did, seeing as many of the heroes all around the world barely knew anything about the Bats, and they work side by side with them. But still, time and time again Jim would be asked by reporters and cops alike if he had any juicy gossip on the Bats, which he would reply with a simple no and a smoke break to try and push away that person's stupidity from his head. 

So much for stopping the smoke habit.

Though, for as much as Jim  _didn't_ know, there were things he saw and made conclusions on. Sure, he wasn't the world's greatest detectives like they were, but he was still a cop, and part of the job came with having basic detective skills. Like how he was sure that the current Batman was not the Batman from three months ago, even though no one has said a thing about it. And how he had an inkling that the current Batman was that guy from Bludhaven, Nightwing, and that Nightwing was the first Robin. After all, it couldn't just be a coincidence that a different Robin (because no matter what people think, there are multiple Robins, and he knows it) shows up only a few weeks after Nightwing reports in 'Haven began coming in. 

Or like when the second Robin suddenly disappeared, and Batman only ever responded to the Bat Signal to listen and grunt, never making any kind of conversation like he would've before, and thugs the Dark Knight beats up turning into bloody pulps, and many being rushed to the emergency room. To Jim, it was clear that the Robins were important to Batman, and something clearly happened to the second one, something so heartbreaking that he was barely human anymore. 

Yet all that changed about two months later, when yet another Robin appeared from under Batman's cape one night. He was much smaller than the other two had been, and much less chatty, but Jim could tell from the few comments he made that this Robin was brilliant. It was almost like a tiny Batman walking around dressed in red green and yellow with how easily he fit into the shadows, and once again Jim wondered how this kid came into existence by the Dark Knight's side. 

For many years, everything seemed fine with this third Robin, Batman became less violent, Gotham had her two protectors back, and villians and gangsters alike learned to respect their partnership. 

From time to time, Jim would look on the news and see the Titans in San Francisco, and that was the only time the commissioner ever saw Robin genuinely smile, a small but bright quirk of his lips that made him look... well, his age. Jim would never admit it, but he was becoming fond of this Robin, just like he had with all the others.

But then... something shifted and darkened among the Bats. Without any warning all of them disappeared without a trace, nowhere to be seen in Gotham, Bludhaven, or even with the Justice League. It was like they never existed, only some fever dream that the entire world had been on, and not even the Titans had any reports on the small bird that was usually with them. They were just... plucked out of existence. 

And just as suddenly as they disappeared, they reappeared, with a new Batman and a new Robin. This honestly relieved Jim more that confuse him, after all, legacies in the hero community eventually get passed down to the protege and all that. He worked with this new duo, they took down the big bads, and once again, everything seemed good. 

And yet... Jim couldn't help but think that the darkness he sensed earlier was still there, hanging over each Bat like a cloud of pure shadows. It didn't help that the third Robin never showed up again, not under another name like the first one did, as far as he could tell anyway. All of the others had come back... but he still stayed missing. It weighted on Jim a lot more than he ever realized, and sometimes he would stare off into the Gotham skyline, wondering what happened to the family that protected them and what secrets they had to foster. 

But unlike everyone else in Gotham... Jim was content to never know about those secrets. 

 

 

It took the collective effort of all the Titans, Superman, and Wonder Woman to stop Kon from constantly searching for Tim. For the first couple of months, many of the Titans helped the half Kryptonian search for their teammate, doing anything they could think of that could possibly get them closer to where Tim was. But then, as the months started dragging on, they all began realizing that their search was a hopeless one. Tim just didn't want to be found, and not even the combined forces of some of the most stubborn and powerful people in the world could change that.

So they had just... stopped looking, after a while. Of course, they would never  _stop,_ but it was useless to look for someone when you had no clues on where they went. But Kon still kept looking, leaving the Tower for weeks at a time until nearly a year passed, and there was still no sign of their missing bird.

The Titans knew they had to get Kon to at least slow down his searching, or else he would become a shell of his former self. He was already halfway there, the constant bags under his eyes and the dule glaze over them, the way he barely reacted to anything around him. If they didn't help him soon, eventually there would be nothing left of the Superboy they knew, and the Titans  _needed_ him. They couldn't lose two teammates so close to one another, not when each person meant so much.

So when Kon finally came back to the Tower after a few months of being off the grid, they were ready for him. They locked down the Tower, lining everything with lead so that he couldn't see what was going on outside. The half Kryptonian only flinched a little at this, staring at his teammates with something dead and dark in his eyes, like he just didn't care anymore, like the ache in his heart was enough to kill him.

"Kon," Cassie said gently, walking slowly towards one of her best friends. "We need to talk about something."

Superman and Wonder Woman waited off to the sides, waiting to see if they needed to intervene at any point in time. They were both just as concerned as the Titans, and the Man of Steel especially felt his heart ache for his clone. He was still uncomfortable around what was supposed to be his replacement, but now he couldn't help but feel like that was selfish of him. It wasn't Kon's fault he was created, and it wasn't his fault that Kal didn't know how to react to a teenage replica of himself. And now Kon needed help, just like every other human being on Earth, and he was determined to give Kon all the help he could provide.

"We're worried about you," Bart said from behind Cassie. "You hardly show up anymore, and if you do it's only for a short period of time to demand if we've figured out where Tim is.  _Please,_ Kon," the speedster begged, feeling tears burning behind his eyes. "We're hurting just as much as you are. You disappearing like this is making it worse, we can't lose you too.  _Please."_ Bart latched onto his best friends torso, tears running down his cheeks and soaking Kon's black shirt. 

Within less than a minute, the rest of the Titans had done the same, holding on as tightly as he could to their teammate. All of them were crying, and without even realizing it, Kon was doing the same. He hadn't allowed time for himself to feel the pain of his broken heart, to really understand that Tim was just...  _gone,_ potentially forever. All he could think about was finding Tim and bringing him home, but no matter where in the world he went to, he couldn't find the heartbeat he cherished so much. It made him  _angry,_ he realized, to be thrown to the side like that. Like years of friendship, experiences, and love suddenly didn't matter anymore, and he was left all on his own to pick up the pieces.

Well, not all alone, he reminded himself. His heart wasn't the only one trying to heal, wasn't the only one trying to figure out why Tim suddenly left. Accept... he knew why Tim left, at least partially. Finding out from Tam that Tim was basically fired as Robin gave way to a whole different type of anger that he wanted to take out on Nightwing, who was now Batman, but he'd been searching for his lover so much that it never festered into anything. Now though, all that anger was coming back in full force.

"I miss him so much," Kon sobbed, his vision blurring heavily from his tears. "I can't believe he's just  _gone."_

And all of the Titans mourned their friend together for the first time in over a year, wondering if they would ever find him again. If they did, it would be together, like they always were. They could do anything, including fighting the darkness hovering over their shoulders, as long as if they were together. 

Both Superman and Wonder Woman watched on with their own sorrows, and hoped that for everyone's sake that the missing bird would come back to them soon.

 

 

Alfred Pennyworth was used to strange things constantly happening to his family. After all, he was the one that first had to deal with Master Bruce's crusade before anyone else came into the picture, the one that helped behind the screen in the Batcave before someone much more qualified took over the role, the one that stitched up his wounds until his last days. Not much could make Alfred waver, even before the Bats became apart of Gotham's smoggy skyline. 

Even the death of Bruce Wayne, a man he's considered his son for most of his life, didn't keep him down for long. Did he mourn? Of course he did. Did he allow his grief to consume him? No, he didn't. There were others to help, others to stay strong for, others that needed him to support them. The thought of Bruce Wayne still left an ache in Alfred's chest, but now he attached that ache with fond memories of him. 

Bruce when Dick first came to the Manor, the boy's cheerful personality easily spreading to even Bruce's stoic face.

Bruce when Jason eventually started warming up to him, how they would both stay up for hours simply reading to one another.

Bruce when he finally adopted Tim, how his eyes glistened with tears as the boy hugged him with everything he had.

Bruce when he and Cassandra would simply sit in one another's presence, enjoying the easy silence. 

But... then he would think about how Bruce would never have one of those moments with Damian. They barely knew each other when Bruce died, and all Damian would really remember about his father would be the stories he was told from his mother and the brief amount of time they spent together. The boy has never seen Bruce full of emotion or comfort, how he pretended not to care but in reality couldn't care more. All he would remember is a man that put Batman and Gotham first and his son second.

The fact that Tim was still missing after so long didn't help in the slightest. The boy was much more fragile than most would like to admit, and it seems Dick was finally starting to see that after so many people told him about the number of things he didn't know about his little brother. Like how he tried to kill himself, or about just how bad it was with his parents as a child, and even that he was dating Superboy. It seemed that Tim didn't trust any of his family enough to tell them any of this, and that just tore Dick up from the inside out. You would never know by directly looking at him, but sometimes he would get this look of longing in his eyes, of regret and past mistakes that he wished he could go back and fix.

But alas, they could not change what had already happened.

At least, that was something Alfred believed until five seconds ago, when he opened the door to the Manor to find Bruce Wayne standing on the other side. The older man could only stare for many moments with wide eyes, his usually unbreakable demeanor shattering into a million tiny shards. This was the man he raised, the man he's seen broken and painstakingly rebuilt, the man that he buried in the ground over a year ago.

How was he here? How was he  _alive?_ Alfred didn't know, he didn't care, because he was  _there._

Then Alfred and Bruce were hugging each other fiercely, not saying a word to one another. They didn't need to, not now at least. Right now all the mattered was that his son was  _home._

When over a minute passed, the finally let go, and Bruce said, "hi Alfred. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And Alfred could only smile and open to door behind him to let Bruce in. 

 

 

A lots happened in the year Bruce 'died' and then was simultaneously brought back to life. Dick became Batman, Damian became Robin, Jason started doing things with the Outlaws, Cass moved to Hong Kong for a mission, and Tim disappeared into the wind with only a vague note left behind as to what he was doing. Even then, when Dick realized that Tim left because he thought that Bruce was still alive and no one believed him, the idea that the person he buried in the ground was still breathing was... far fetched at best. There simply was no way that Bruce was alive, and no matter how smart Tim was and how stubborn he could be, there was no way he could ever bring him back.

But then one day Bruce Wayne showed up on the Manor's doorstep, saying that Tim found him and freed him from the prison of time he was trapped in, and all of that reasoning fell apart. Tim was somehow able to not only know Bruce was still alive but how to bring him back, and instead of getting support from the ones he was supposed to  _trust_ he got doubt and threats of being thrown into Arkham. Threats that Dick  _himself_ gave.

But that wasn't as important right now. What was important was that Bruce  _saw_ Tim, actually talked to his little brother after so long of no one knowing  _anything_ about where he was. When Bruce was told about Tim's absence from, well,  _everyone,_ how one day he just got up and walked off the face of the Earth, his menor was perplexed. He told them that Tim seemed fine and told him that he just needed some time to himself to figure things out. 

"Did you know that Tim tried to kill himself?" Dick remembers blurting out, watching the look on Bruce's face turn into... something he couldn't describe. 

"Tim  _what?"_ Bruce demanded, and Dick remembers the way Damian tensed beside of him, not having said a word since his father arrived like nothing ever happened. 

"The day after Tim...  _left..._ I got a call from Tam Fox. She wasn't very happy with me, and in the middle of all of it she mentioned that Tim tried to kill himself at one point. And no one but the Titans and her ever knew about it. He never said anything to anyone in the family." 

And the shock on Bruce's face was something Dick had never expected to see on the Dark Knight's face. Sure,  _he_ bore the title at the moment, but it wasn't his body and soul like Bruce's was, wasn't his entire life. Bruce never showed an emotion he didn't want to show, but Dick knew that in that moment that Bruce lost control of himself, however brief. It very much mimicked his own first reactions when he heard the words, the confusion, the hurt, the  _fear._ But Bruce still didn't know all of it.    

"And... I've also been told that Tim's mental state has been bad even before he became Robin, he's had suicidal thoughts and self esteem issues for a  _long_ time. Not one of us ever noticed," Dick finished with a whisper. He would ask,  _demand_ Bruce to tell him how he could be the world's greatest detective and not realize what Tim was going through, but in reality, Dick had no room to talk. Both of them were stuck in the grief of losing Jason for a long time to really look around at anything else, but that shouldn't be an excuse. They willingly ignored Tim because they thought he wasn't as important, and nothing was going to change that fact. They couldn't deny it, and that's especially true for when Damian came into the picture. 

Whatever was going on with Tim now, wherever he was, was all of their faults. 

"Do- does anyone at least have an idea of where he  _is?"_ Bruce asked. Dick pursed his lips together, ready to respond, but Damian beat him to it.

"No, father. You're the first anyone seen of him in a year, and no amount of searching even gave us a clue to where he might be. It's like," the boy paused, a little bit of guilt showing on his face. Dick couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for the boy, knowing that in just a year that he's improved so much, that he's allowed his feelings to be shown and reflected upon. It was one of the few things that Dick was sure he did right in that year.

Damian looked up at his father, and right then and there he looked so much like Bruce it hurt. "It's like he's become a shadow drifting in the darkness." 

 

 

Three more years passed, and in that time, many more things happened. Bruce took back the cowl, something that Dick very eagerly gave up in order to become Nightwing once more, Steph came back from 'dying' (nobody in this family ever  _stays_ dead, do they?), Jason began slowly working his way back into the family, Cass moved full time to Hong Kong but still periodically came back to Gotham, and Damian... well, lets just say he's changed the most in the past few years. He went from being an angry, self entitled brat to much calmer, thoughtful teenager. His improvements as a person and as Robin made everyone fond of him, whether they admitted it or not. 

Everything was good. Villains came and went as they always did, end of the world scenarios were thwarted, family life improved. It was like nothing could go wrong.

For the most part, Tim wasn't exactly something on any of their minds, accept for time to time when suddenly a memory popped into their head. It would always cause them to pause and stare off for a moment, wondering where their little bird had gone, or if he was even still alive. There still wasn't any proof that he even existed at all, with so little that he left behind. And now with the knowledge that Tim had tried to kill himself, whenever they did think about him, they wondered about the signs they so clearly missed. How many smiles were fake? How many bruises were covered up? How many lies did he tell right to their faces without anyone ever questioning them?

The answer? They would never truly know, not unless they found Tim and demanded some answers from him. But they wouldn't, not with everything going so perfectly at home. No ever mentioned it, so nothing was ever done. 

All the darkness in the world couldn't make them see the clouds right above their heads.

 

 

Batman and Robin were in front of Commissioner Gordon two minutes after the Bat Signal was lit against the sky. The man was starting to gray at his roots, giving him a grandfatherly look, though anyone with half a mind knew that age was never going to be a factor in Gordon's stubbornness and dedication to what he did on a daily basis. 

"You know, after all these years you'd think you guys would stop hiding in the shadows to try and give me a heart attack, but here we are," Gordon said without even turning towards the dynamic duo, waiting for them to stop their sleuthing. They both appeared a moment later, and that's when Gordon finally faced them, a small, grim smile on his face. 

"Have you heard about the new guy in town?" Gordon asked, skipping straight to business, meaning it must be important. Usually there was a little bit of banter to start off with before they got to what needed to be done, but both Batman and Robin could see the stress lingering in Gordon's forehead. Whatever was going on, it was very serious, enough so that Gordon didn't even wait for them to hear about this 'new guy' that was supposedly in Gotham before contacting them about it. 

"I'm afraid not, Commissioner," Batman said lowly. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Gordon sighed, handing over a thin file that he had been carrying. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it's all my people were able to get on a short notice. Someone's been messing with the Underworld, and not just with the low lifes. I'm talking Penguin, Two-Face, the works. Minions of all sorts of gangs have been found beaten mostly to death, high enough up that the gangs actually feel the blow. It's causing quite the stir, but we've only now been catching wind on it, and there's no telling how long this has been going on. It looks like a full out gang war it brewing, everyone trying to blame the disturbances on someone else."

Batman grunted, thinking back to what Red Hood had said earlier that month about the gangs acting for fidgety than normal. The Dark Knight believed him, but from the outside, it didn't look like much was happening other than the usual fight for power. 

"Can you tell us anything about what this person looks like?"

Gordon shrugged. "Not much, the only description we have is from those that got beat up, but they barely remember anything besides that they were wearing almost entirely black. They were terrified to even  _talk_ about them, and honestly, I have seen that much  _fear_ in criminals since the Red Hood went around shooting anyone and everything. You'd think they've seen the devil or something."

"Has this person been given a name?" Ronin questioned, knowing that someone like this would definitely be given something to go by. It was the way Gotham worked.

The Commissioner chuckled under his breath, a weak, tired sound. "Of course they have." His glasses reflected the light of the Bat Signal, giving him a haunted look.

"From what I've heard from the the gangs, the Demon seems to be what they're calling them. From what I've seen...  _Demon_ isn't too far from the truth."     


	7. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes school. This fic will prolly be slow to update for a while, especially since I really want to finish In Which Red Robin is Done With Marvel's Shit.

It was shockingly easy to take over Gotham's underworld, or at least, terrify them all into submission. Was this the power that Jason felt when he first made his appearance as Red Hood? The knowledge that he could cause so much fear that he was untouchable, considered a myth to those who had yet to see him? No wonder he just kept going, the feeling was utterly addicting.

And the name he was given suited him well, even if it was quite ironic. The Demon, the one who lurks in the shadows, the one who knows everything you're thinking, the one who could appear at any moment with a thought, the one who came from the deepest pits of Hell. They weren't too far from the truth.

Currently, the Demon was stalking out one of Two-Face's warehouses, where the higher ups were discussing a trade between them and a Metropolis gang that was supposed to go down in another week at Dixon Dock's. The Demon had every intention on ruining that deal, even burning it to the ground, but he needed to know all the details so that his plans could go flawlessly. Getting Two-Face out of hiding was proving to be more difficult that he first believed it to be, but if this trade was as important as the higher ups were claiming it to be, destroying it could be the breaking point for the villain. He was smart to go underground, but the Demon knew that Two-Face was proud and stubborn. If his businesses were being stopped by someone, a myth or not, he would come out to defend them.

The Demon moved silently through the shadows of the warehouse, making sure that there was no way for him to be seen from any of the dozens of security guards that roamed the property. Guns and muscle in all the gangs have tripled since the Demon's arrival, and it was honestly kinda impressive, even if it didn't help them in the slightest. 

Now in a proper place to listen to the conversation being held below, the Demon activated the advanced hearing mechanisms in his cowl, instantly clarifying the voices of the men and one woman. The one woman was named Nia Proscaro, a new but intimidating figure that has only started making her mark in Two-Face's gang about a year ago, a few months before the Demon arrived in Gotham. Proscaro was ruthless and deadly, impressing her superiors so much that she easily made her way up until she became Two-Face's right hand man, or woman, if you will. Anything that the villain was planning, she knew about, and anything that needed some dirty work thrown in, she would do. 

If the Demon could get his hands on her... well, lets just say Two-Face wouldn't need much convincing to come out of his hidey hole. 

"-Freeman and I will be in charge of the deal with Dorlis and his men," Proscaro was saying, referring to the leader of the Metropolis gang they were meeting with, Harold Dorlis. "No one else is to come to the docks besides the guards on both sides. We need this to be as under the radar as possible. The last thing we need is for the Demon to catch wind of what's happening and ruin the whole operation. If I see  _any_ of you at the docks besides Freeman, I  _will_ make sure the boss hears it," Proscaro finished threateningly, her dark eyes meeting every single man at the table. She was very good at controlling the room, even if it was filled with men who were nearly double her size and weight, and the Demon could admire that, seeing as he was on the small side as well. But that admiration didn't make his desire to beat her to a bloody pulp lessen. 

"Do I make myself clear?"

The rest of the men nodded, not even bothering to make a sound. A couple months ago they would have laughed at the idea of taking special precautions for a figure most still believe didn't exist, but after the Demon put Two-Face's best drug smuggler Andy Salinger in the hospital with multiple witnesses to spread the story, they all began to fear the Demon in a way they didn't fear the Bats. The Bats, while brutal at times, were nothing compared to the twisted, sickening presence of the Demon. The Demon tortured Salinger in front of over a dozen people, breaking his bones, cutting open arteries, ever so slowly craving out his eyes, all so that he could gain a little information about a drug shipment from Two-Face's stash. 

That was when the villain first went underground, only leaving behind his underlings to do most of the work. Now that all of the pieces were put into place, the Demon was finally ready for Two-Face to come back into the light. 

He spent a few more minutes just listening in, just to make sure that there wasn't any other new information that he could use when the time came. For the most part it was nothing new, but that was alright. The Demon was just about to leave when movement caught the corner of his eye, which was rather odd seeing as he was still in the high beams of the warehouse. Who else would be up here in his territory?

The Demon slowly turned his head to the direction of the movement, sinking deeper into the shadows around him. The new arrival did the same, though they stood out much more in their brightly colored outfit as opposed to the Demon, who wore all black. He froze when he realized who it was sleuthing around up in the rafters of the warehouse with him, and instantly the Demon knew that he had to get out of there as soon as possible, new information be damned. It wasn't worth compromising his entire plan.

If it really  _was_ Robin up here with him... he didn't want a damn thing to do with him. The Demon didn't want to think about what Robin's were usually followed by, what a Robin usually meant when it came to anything around Gotham. He had to get  _out._

Why was Robin even  _here_ tonight? The Demon made sure that all of the Bats were occupied in some shape or form before coming here, and this meeting was so discreet that most of the participants didn't even know it was happening til a few hours ago. There was no  _way_ for anyone in Gotham to find out about it so quickly... and yet, here Robin was, doing the exact same thing he had been doing a minute before, silently observing from above.

The Demon clenched his fist before relaxing all the muscles in his body, gradually straightening from his perch that he had been listening in. Robin never once looked his way, but the Demon wasn't about to take any chances. Robin was trained in the League of Assassins before going to Batman, so he would recognize the signs of someone lurking where they weren't supposed to, even if they were hidden so deep in shadow. It was training that both Ra's al Ghul and Batman had perfected in their own ways, and now all of it was in the current Robin. Any wrong move and he would be found out.

Any wrong move, and the Bats would finally be aware of his presence, and they would start searching for him if they weren't already. And no matter what, that couldn't happen.

 

 

Robin really wasn't sure what he was expecting when he sneaked into the warehouse, but right now he was rather disappointed. Sure, he heard from Oracle that Two-Face's litentuants were meeting here tonight, even if no one was sure why, but that's not what he was interested in. In fact, whatever Two-Face has planned was the least of his interests right now. Robin was much more interested in someone else.

The Demon.

He and the rest of the Bats have researched as much as they could about this mysterious figure that would appear from the shadows and beat the hell out of criminals, but there wasn't much to find. Commissioner Gordon and his officers had gotten most of whatever they would, which to say, wasn't much. But even after another month of the world's greatest detectives looking into it, they were still lacking in almost every category, and after the brutal torture of Andy Salinger... well, lets just say Robin found a new obsession to take down the Demon by any means necessary.

Even if it did mean breaking a few rules to do it.

Like right now he was supposed to be patrolling on his own, but clearly, that wasn't the case. But he had a very good reason to think that the Demon would be here tonight, and that had everything to do with Two-Face himself. The Demon had been targeting the villain for over a month now if the information they got from Gordon was correct. The beating of Andy Salinger forced Two-Face into hiding and to put his some of his businesses on hold, but still, the Demon kept going after him. Why, no one had any idea, seeing as this guy seemed almost like an anti-hero than and actual villain, but he kept going.

So when Robin heard about an important meeting between Two-Face's men, he knew that the Demon must be there somewhere. He didn't tell anyone what he was doing, and now here he is. To him, this was just too good of an opportunity to actually  _see_ the Demon instead of getting vague descriptions from criminals scared out of their minds. He didn't want to disturb the others from what they had planned tonight, so he didn't tell anyone.

Robin slowly looked around the room from behind his white outs, searching for any shift in the shadows, any glint of metal. He made sure not to move any other muscle besides his eyes, because surely the Demon was well trained enough to know when he's been found, at least by regular adversaries. But Robin was a Bat, and Bats were much different from a regular adversary. Batman wouldn't have it any other way.

The vigilante had scanned the entire warehouse by now, but still, no signs of the Demon were found. He decided it was time to move to somewhere else, to look at the room from a different angle. Shadows could be finicky things, but even they could reveal their secrets if given enough of a nudge. 

Robin smoothly leaped from one rafter to the next, not even making a sound as he landed. It was rather odd for a teenager as bulky as himself, but he learned stealth from people even taller and bulkier than he was, and they were experts at it. Not many people expected Red Hood to be silent when he wanted to be, but Hood was a Bat as well, born to live in shadows and scare the ever loving shit out of people. Just thinking about it almost cause Robin to smile, but he shoved it down.

In this new perch, Robin still couldn't find the Demon, but he did have a much better view of the meeting below. He couldn't hear anything besides muffled whispers, but that wasn't his concern. His concern was that if the Demon was here, this beam would be a perfect viewing platform. It was covered in shadows, hidden away up in the corners where the light didn't quite reach, and now many people would ever look up here anyway. All you would need is some decent audio enhancers and what do you know, you've got the perfect stalking perch.

This must have been where the Demon was only moments before. After all, Robin could see the light scuff marks on the beam that didn't belong to his own shoes, too perfect to be anything else. He rubbed the scuff mark with a gloved hand, wondering only one thing:

_If the Demon was here listening to the meeting... then where was he now?_

Did he see Robin entering the warehouse and decided to book it? That was a possible, if unlikely answer. Not many people could see him weaving in the shadows, even if they were well trained. The only people that could really do that were, well,  _Bats._ Not even many in Grandfather's League could find them if they tried, and many of them were trained by his Mother as well as his Grandfather. 

_Then where the Hell is he-_

The smallest flutter of movement caught Robin's eye, so insignificant that it could have just been the AC kicking on, but he was trained to find any changes in the environment around him. His eyes instantly snapped to it, and there, halfway out of the window Robin came through not two minutes ago, was a figure dressed head to toe in all black. They had a cape that would've reached their ankles if they were standing up, thick gloves and gauntlets, and what looked to be a utility belt across their chest and waist. As if the figure sensed his eyes, their faced turned to look at Robin, which was covered by a hood from the cape, a large domino mask, and a cloth that covered the entire lower half of their face. Not one inch of skin was seen, all defining features covered. Only the blank, emotionless stare of the blacks of the domino.

This must be the Demon. It followed the vague description many have given, but most importantly to Robin, they were here, right where he thought they would be. They stared at one another for a few more moments, the tension growing thicker and thicker in their little corner of the world, before it all snapped.

In one move so fluid you would've thought it was choreographed, Robin leaped for the window and the Demon disappeared through it, causing Robin to follow without hesitation. He needed to find out  _everything_ he could about the Demon, what his motives were, his fighting capabilities- yes, he shouldn't do this alone but his obsession wouldn't allow him to call for back up. He needed to prove that he could to this, that he could take on cases on his own, no matter how big, just like Dick and Jason and Stephanie and Cass, and-

Tim.

That though nearly made the teenager stumble, but he quickly threw it aside, focusing all of his energy to following the Demon, who was already doing their best to become one with the shadows of the night. They might have been made of shadows, but Robin was born in them, and was easily able to continuously find his target leaping across rooftops and whipping around sharp corners. It wasn't a game, no, it was too serious to be that, but something about it was enjoyable. Maybe it was the feeling of flying like Dick always described it as, maybe not, but either way, it powered Robin through the chase.

The Demon seemed to realize that they weren't going to lose their pursuiter, but instead of throwing back explosives or other weapons Robin knew they had based on the gadgets they had strapped to their body, they suddenly stopped on a rooftop. Robin rolled onto the rooftop from the jump he had just made, lightly panting for breath as the Demon simply stood straight from the opposite side. Neither of them moved for several seconds, and Robin couldn't stop himself from asking, "so is it too much to ask you to stop beating criminals mostly to death?"

The Demon tilted their head to the side. "Yes," came the heavily modified voice, blank and emotionless, just like their eyes. They still didn't move, giving Robin time to take in their body type and height, finding that the Demon was much smaller than he first thought, the black suit probably making him seem buffer than he actually was, if it had good body armor. Robin was maybe four inches taller, and if he had to guess, more than 50 pounds heavier than the Demon, making his adversary much leaner that most. He would be swift and agile, but not as strong.

Robin unsheathed his katana, pointing it at the Demon. "If you won't stop, then I'll have to bring you in. Us Bats don't exactly like the violent types."

"And yet every night you break bones, give concussions, and send people to the hospital. I think there's something in there about the pot calling the kettle black," the Demon somehow said sarcastically while still putting no emotion into their voice. It was almost disturbing how little they moved. If it weren't for the heat signature coming up in his masks lenses, Robin might think the Demon wasn't really alive at all. 

He ignored the jab. "But we don't torture people in front of others who are helpless, no matter how evil."

"And Andy Salinger will never work in a life of crime ever again," the Demon stepped forward, a metal tube appearing in their hands. With a flick of a wrist, it extended to six foot staff, as dark as the Demon. "Not dead, just permanently out of commission. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Robin thought about his life before he went to his Father, how he was forced to kill people, innocent and cruel, over and over again to prove his worth. How disobedience caused punishment, and obedience lead to the League teaching him more and more ways to brutally kill someone.

Never again.

Without saying a word, Robin lunged at the Demon, instantly tangling the two into a furious fight. They moved with the shadows, creating their own and slipping in and out of those already there. Robin couldn't remember a more skilled opponent he's ever been up against, maybe even with Father and his brothers and sisters. The Demon was not only swift and agile like he expected, but his hits  _hurt._ That staff was not something to be taken lightly, especially since he's already been on the other side of it when electricity flew threw it. Each moment was Robin dodging for his life, doing everything he could to evade the twirling staff that threatened to hit him each time.

For a minute Robin didn't even attempt to go on offense, focusing solely on deflecting the Demon's strikes with his katana, then the roles flipped with the Demon evading Robin's katana swings. They danced for several minutes, neither seemingly gaining the upper hand on the other. Dread began filling Robin's chest at the thought. He was starting to run out of steam from fighting this long and this hard, and his opponent didn't look tired in the slightest.

_Who would have trained you to be this good of a fighter?_

Robin tried to throw the Demon off their balance by using his elbow, but all the Demon did was grab it and shove him to the ground, too quickly and too harshly for the vigilante to recover. He was running on fumes, and even he knew that what he did was a half assed attempt. 

Robin hit the ground  _hard._ So hard that he was sure a rib just broke. He was left gasping and shaking as he tried to push himself onto his knees, freezing when he saw that black pole appear in front of him, followed by the Demon's thick boots. He turned his eyes up, the Demon looking down at him like he was an uninteresting piece of roadkill. 

"What... do you... want," Robin heaved out, knowing that this was far from the last time they would meet like this. It was the way his life worked at this point. 

"What I want?" the Demon asked, their staff shrinking into just a metal tube once more. "I want everything to go back to the way it used to be. But that can't happen." They crouched down to Robin's height, which was rather humiliating since Robin was in reality much taller that the Demon. "So, I'm going to get rid of as much scum on this fuck up of a planet as I can, and then no one will ever see me again. Stay out of my way, and it'll all be over much quicker. Get in my way... well, lets just say it won't be pleasant for anyone, especially for you Bats."

The Demon stood up from their crotch, about ready to disappear into the night once more, but Robin couldn't let that happen yet. He still had too many questions.

"Why do you keep going after Two-Face?" the vigilante rasped, causing the Demon to stop in their tracks. "What do you have to gain from him?" 

The Demon let out a low chuckle that sent shivers up Robin's spine, a haunted sound even through the voice modifier. "I have much to gain from going after Two-Face, much more than you could even hope to know. But mainly?" They turned their head ever so slightly to the side, just enough so that Robin could see the glint of the Demon's black eyes. "I want to watch that piece of shit  _suffer."_

Before Robin could ask what the Hell that meant, the Demon was gone, so quickly that it might have been a teleport. The vigilante's energy ran out at that moment, and he collapsed down onto the ground, unable to keep himself standing. He couldn't remember ever being so exhausted in his life, not when Father first started training him, not when Mother would have him go for hours at a time against various assassins. He was drained in every aspect, mentally, physically, emotionally. 

_Why the hell... am I so tired?_

That was Robin's last thought before he succumbed to the darkness around him, bleeding and bruised on a random rooftop in Gotham.

At least now he understood why the gangs feared them so much. He would be afraid too, if a demon was coming for him again and again without mercy.                   


	8. Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, school and marching band are starting to kick my ass, which is the main reason it's been so long since I've posted anything here. That and I'm trying desperately to finish in Which Red Robin is Done with Marvel's Shit. Thank you for being so patient with me, and enjoy!

Most of Bruce Wayne's time was spent worrying over his children. Where they were, what they were doing, who was with them, everything that a normal parent with nearly a dozen children should be worrying about. Well, 'normal,' if you think having every single child also be a vigilante could ever be normal. They would never be a normal family (that line was drawn the moment half of them died and came back within a year) but Bruce was content with what he had. He loved every single one of his children, even if most days he struggled to express it.

That's why when Damian started doing solo patrols as Robin, he worried the entire time and ended up just watching his son from the Batcave monitors, ready to go and help any moment. It's gotten better since the first few weeks of the solo patrols, but still, it's always in the back of his mind. What if Damian's comms stop working, unable to call anyone if he was in over his head? What if he was kidnapped without anyone knowing, and by the time they found out it was too late? What if-

There were just too  _many_ what-ifs. His mind could spend hours upon hours just thinking about all the bad things that could happen to all of his children, and spend even longer trying to find ways to prevent all of them, but it was usually a waste of time. For the vast majority of the time, (contrary to popular belief) his children were safe, and if they weren't, told someone immediately. 

This was not the vast majority of the time. 

This was not one of those times where all of his children were safe. 

This was not one of those times when he didn't fear for one of their lives.

"This is Batman," Bruce said through the universal comms of the Batcomputer, the ones that would send out his message to every Bat regardless of the channel they happened to be on. "I need to know if anyone has heard from Robin in the past three hours."

_"I thought the brat was just doing his usual patrol route tonight,"_ Jason snarked, hiding the layer of worry that was deep within his voice. Even after all this time his second son was so hesitant to show any weakness, especially when it came to worrying about anyone in the family. Regardless, Bruce was just happy to have Jason back after all this time, when he thought their relationship was permanently shattered. Sure, it would never be fully repaired like it once was, but it was still much better than it had been three years ago.

"He's supposed to," Bruce replied back gruffly, trying not to snap. "He was supposed to be back in the Cave an hour ago. He's not answering any comms, and his tracker is flickering all over the place. One moment he's in the Bowery, the next he's in Midtown. The only reason I'm not out there looking for him right now is that Agent A is insistent that I don't go out anymore tonight." He didn't mention the giant gash up the side of his thigh he got from tracking Killer Croc, but that was irrelevant. 

_"Where did you see him last?"_ came Cass's voice, soft but firm. 

"When we split up in Chinatown. I went to go track Croc in the sewers, and he continued on like he normally does. As far as I know."

_"Is there any reason he would have strayed off route?"_ asked Dick, his blinking blue racker on the Batcomputer's screen indicating that he was already heading towards Bruce's last known contact with Damian, Cass and Jason not far behind.  _"I mean, I know he has a sense of pride he wants to keep up but he also knows when he's in to over his head."_

Bruce huffed, saying, "I don't know. He wasn't acting strange beforehand as far as I can tell, but right now that means nothing. We need to find him as soon as possible, and our numbers are short." It was hard to believe that the Bats numbers could ever be 'short,' but they definitely were right now. Duke, Luke, and Stephanie were all out of Gotham on an undercover mission to bring down a prominent drug ring, and Barbara and Kate were currently with the Birds of Prey. As far as things were considered, over half their team was gone, and Gotham was a big city. Damian could be anywhere.

If Bruce's hands were shaking, he didn't think about it too much. He couldn't afford to. 

A firm hand came to rest on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. For the millionth time in his life, Bruce thanked whatever being that was responsible that Alfred was there for the entirety of his life, through ups and downs, deaths and rebirths, everything. If there was one constant he could rely on, it was Alfred.

_"I'm here,"_ Dick said.  _"I don't see anything that indicates a struggle or anything on nearby rooftops, but I don't think Robin was following his usual patrol route. There's nothing from any police scanner about the Bats roaming the area or being spotted, and I know that the officers are required to call in Bat sightings even if it's from a civilian. I know Baby Bat was trained by the best to be stealthy, but he still doesn't really blend in in all of that red and yellow."_

_"I see what you mean, Big Wing,"_  Jason replied, his red tracker showing that he was only a few buildings away from Dick. _"There ain't anyone around here that's beat up, not even a low time drug dealer. No police reports of activity other than their own. Somethin's definitely up."_

_"He went off route purposefully,"_  stated Cass, like she knew it was fact. Knowing her, she was probably right. She had a way of observing an area and the people around it and just  _knowing_ things that would take anyone else much longer to figure out. Trusting her word usually got them where they otherwise wouldn't be, so her thinking that Damian went off his patrol route purposefully was a scenario they needed to address.

_"If that's the case, then **why**?" _

There was no response from any of the Bats. Bruce watched as their trackers moved around Chinatown, attempting to find their missing bird. He itched to join them on the rooftops, but the aching of his leg reminded him that he would just be a distraction to them, a weak link they would constantly have to look out for. He couldn't stand the thought of losing another child, not when he's already lost Damian once before. 

"They have to find him, Alfred," Bruce said weakly, very unlike the commanding tone he had been using only a minute ago. "They  _have to."_

Alfred squeezed his shoulder again, sitting down next to the boy he's raised for the majority of his life. There was a time when that boy did his best to block out all the emotion he could, did everything in his power to make sure that no one would ever want to be at his side. And yet, somehow his heart never hardened enough to refuse the call of a child, a child that would break away all of those outer walls and soon turn into many children that broke his heart only to reshape it again. 

"They will," Alfred tells Bruce. "They always do."

 

 

It takes them another hour and a half to finally find Damian. By that time, all of the Bats are a slightly (read as:  _completely)_ emotional mess, snapping at each other and going through long silences before someone finally finds the courage to break it again. In an hour and a half they've painstakingly reworked Damian's path through Gotham, how the boy most certainly did not follow any sort of patrol route that anyone has.

In an hour and a half, they discovered that the Robin went to a warehouse right in the middle of Two-Face's territory, mostly thanks to Bruce's hacking back at the Cave. It wasn't Oracle level good or even Tim-

They found him. It worked. That's all that matters. 

They use the cameras to find out that while Damian entered the warehouse alone, he exited behind a figure dressed head to toe in black, and that's the moment that Bruce's blood really began to run cold. He had no doubt that this was the Demon that Jim Gordon and his officers keep mentioning, the one that's been stirring up violence in all of Gotham's gangs, both big and small. The one that recently put Andy Salinger in the hospital with no hope of a complete recovery. The one that all of the Bats agreed they should never fight alone, even if it meant sacrificing a potential lead on who they are and what their motives were. 

Bruce watched in distant horror as his youngest child chased after the Demon, barely registering the fact that this was the only footage that he's ever seen on the monster dressed in all black, that this was the first proof besides horrible stories that the Demon existed. Well, that it, if this really was the Demon. It honestly didn't matter to Bruce, not right now. 

Damian easily chased the figure across the rooftops, skillfully dodging any attempt the Demon made to try and lose him. Bruce would've been proud if he wasn't so terrified. 

Then the figure stopped on a rooftop in the Bowery, and that's when shit  _really_ started hitting the fan. The two fight, and it's a long, brutal battle that doesn't seem to have a clear winner for a long time. But then the Demon shoves his son to the ground, and it's all over. Damian manages to say something to the Demon before they disappear back into the shadows of Gotham, but Bruce can tell by the way his body goes slack that his son is no longer conscious.

That's what he keeps telling himself over and over again, that Damian is just unconscious. Not dead, not dying, just unconscious. He needs to keep calm needs to make sure he stays in control-

But that was the thinking of Batman. Here, sitting in front of the Batcomputer with an injury preventing him from  _being_ out there with the rest of his children, Bruce Wayne is not in control.

_Please let him be okay, Gods please let him be **okay**._ 

Dick, Jason and Cass find Damian at breakneck speed once it's clear where their youngest is, and relief unparalleled to anything Bruc has ever felt before runs through his chest when Dick says that Damian's breathing and pulse is steady. Damian is fine, he isn't dying, isn't permanently hurt-

_"-But he definitely needs medical attention,"_ Dick says, his slightly shaking voice revealing that he's just as relieved as Bruce is, as  _all_ of them are.  _"I think he's knocked out with some kind of drug, a strong but not lethal one. Sending back blood information now."_

The Batcomputer gets the notification that Nightwing sent the information to be analyzed, but Bruce ignored it for now. He needed to help Alfred prep the med bay, make sure that his son would be as comfortable as he could possibly be when he woke up. He hardly noticed the butler bringing down food for all of the Bats to inevidably munch on, too focused on the one line running on repeat in his mind.

_He's fine, Damian's fine, they're all fine. All of my children are safe._

And yet, as true as that was, Bruce still couldn't help but feel that it was as far from the truth as is could be. 

 

 

Damian slowly woke up with a pounding headache. Not the first time it's happened, probably wouldn't be the last.

The thing that concerns him though, is  _how_ slowly he wakes up. Even when he's drugged he can usually shake off the depths of sleep within a minutes or two, and while he isn't staring at a clock, he can tell it's been longer than two minutes.

Way longer, in fact.

Sounds gradually filled in around him, the steady beeping of what he assumed was a heart monitor, the shuffling of what could be feet, the low murmur of voices. Smells were next to come back, antiseptic burning his nose, an underlying dampness to everything, and what he thought could be comforting food all making its way to his brain to tell him where he was.

The Cave. That much was obvious. But how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was chasing the Demon across the rooftops... and then... nothing. 

Damian groaned unintentionally, his frustration trying to make itself present to the world. Instantly, the sounds of people talking ceased and light but sure footsteps all came right next to where he realized he was lying on a bed. It was a nice and comfy bed to, with thick blankets over his legs and a fluffy pillow under his head and neck. It would be really easy to just fall back into the sweet darkness of sleep...

The voices were calling out his name. Damian focused on them, realizing he recognized Dick's warm concern and Jason and Father's deep baritone. He was quite sure that both Cass and Alfred were also by his side somewhere, though he did not hear them say anything. Something his his heart warmed at the thought of them all so concerned about him, to know that he had a family that would care for him no matter what.

"Damian?" he heard his Father say, a warm hand running soothingly through his hair. "Are you alright?"

With as much strength as he could muster, Damian pulled his eyes apart, noting how they must have turned down the lights so that his eyes wouldn't strain against it. He instantly noticed his family all around him, and it made him wonder how he ever thought none of them were worthy enough to be called that, how he ever thought that the only people worthy enough to care about were those of blood-

_-How he would never be able to apologize to the one he hurt the most-_

"I'm okay," Damian croaked out, roughly coughing. A glass of water was immediately brought to his mouth, and he drank as much as he could without making himself sick. "What happened?" he asked after he was thoroughly re-hydrated, feeling much better than before even if that heavy ache was still present under his skin.

And that's when Damian remembered that he went off his patrol route to track down the Demon, and if he woke up in the med bay due to so serious injury... then he must have been beaten by the Demon, and pretty badly too. It was then he realized that the ache in his bones wasn't just from whatever drug was in his system, but from countless bruises and cuts all littering his body even where he wore armor. 

Shame lit up Damian's face, and he suddenly wanted to hide away from the now fleeting eyes of his family. He didn't prove his was capable like everyone else, only that he was a nuisance that had to be constantly looked after, still just a mere child that kept making stupid mistakes-

Jason coughed into his arm, as if sensing Damian getting caught up in his own thoughts. "We were hoping  _you_ could tell us that, Baby Bat. As far as we could tell, you did everything on your own without any force on someone else's part. Well, except for the part where we found you on some random rooftop in the Bowery completely knocked out and drugged."

The silence in the Cave was only broken by the occasional rustle of the bats, everyone waiting for Damian to answer. The boy lowered his head and took a deep breath, doing his best to keep his voice even. "Two-Face's officers were having an important meeting tonight. I wanted to investigate to find out if I could get any new information. I knew that we were short handed and didn't have anyone staking it out... so I just went." He didn't dare say anything about trying to find the Demon, though he suspected they knew about the Demon coming into Damian's night.

"We agreed not to go after anything dealing with Two-Face until he came back from hiding underground," his Father said lowly, his voice slowly turning into the Bat. 

Damian felt himself bristle, a burst of selfish pride welling in his gut. "Just because Two-Face is no longer directly on the scene in Gotham doesn't mean we should ignore what the rest of his gang is doing," he spit out. "I was trying to  _help."_

"And yet in the process you somehow came in contact with the Demon Jim Gordon keeps talking about, someone no one else has seen up until now, and got your ass kicked. Please Damian, tell me the  _real_ reason you disobeyed stricts orders from me and went to that warehouse." 

The teen felt his eyes glare without realizing it, a standard reaction whenever he felt threatened left over from when he was just a child. He barely noticed how the rest of the Bats seemed to gradually gravitate away from the two, as if sensing the storm right below their skins. "I," Damian said slowly, trying to emphasize each word. "Was  _trying_ to help. No one will willingly try and find the Demon, so  _I_ did." 

His Father's voice was deathly calm compared to how he spoke before. "And we all saw how  _that_ turned out."

 

 

Tim thought it would be hard to set up a series of safehouses in Gotham and Bludhaven, but surprisingly, he was wrong. Even without knowing where most of the Bats safe houses were these days (because he's positive they've moved at least a dozen times since he's been gone) he was still able to easily avoid possible locations in multiple abandoned apartments and warehouses. Good to know Gotham will always have an abandoned something somewhere for anyone to find.

The Demon entered one of these safe houses, an old warehouse not even two blocks from Crime Alley. To him it was the perfect place: big enough to accommodate his needs and supplies, but small enough to not attract any wanted attention. He very clearly remembers from his time as Robin that one of the first things he and Batman would do whenever one of the Rogue's got out would be to put down any large abandoned warehouses as a possible base of operations. It was a cliche at this point, but there was a reason it was a cliche. Large warehouses had a lot of space, and since they were abandoned, they were usually so run down that they blend into the background without anyone realizing. 

And plus, drama was everything when it came to Gotham's villains.

The Demon pushed down the hood and mask covering his face, becoming Tim Drake once more. He took a deep breath to steady his quickly beating heart, still high off the adrenaline rush he always got from running across the rooftops. And to think, he's nearly gone three years with feeling it...

Tim methodically takes off every part of his suit, first unclasping the cape, then the gauntlets and gloves, boots, the armored tunic and utility belt, until he's finally left in the flexible undersuit. And then that comes off as well, all folded up into a neat little pile to be washed and dried later. 

It was late, nearly daybreak at this point, but Tim wasn't tired. He hasn't felt tired in so long that he's half convinced that he'll probably never sleep again, at least not without some help. There are times where he's drugged himself with small doses of strong poisons in order to sleep for about an hour, like the one he used on Robin tonight, but those were few and far inbetween. He didn't like sleeping very much anymore, but not because of nightmares. Actually, it was quite the opposite. When Tim's awake, his mind is a constant whirling machine, taking in and processing information, planning his next move, never stopping for silence. However, when he sleeps... everything goes silent, and he's left in the dark, consuming black. 

He doesn't like it. He doesn't know why, so he just doesn't sleep. Like he said before, it's not like he gets tired or anything anymore.

Tim walked over to this safe house's computer, beginning to write up a report of the night's events. He concluded that Two-Face's people were proceeding exactly as they should be, and the plan to sabotage the deal between them and the Metropolis gang was still on-

But then he paused, thinking about Robin and how he also came into the warehouse, how he chased after the Demon until he was drugged and physically could not stay awake any longer. He clearly wasn't after the information that Two-Face's gang was discussing, especially not if he came all alone just to chase after the first thing that moved. 

Robin had been  _looking_ for the Demon, for whatever reason that may be. But if that was the case... then the Bats know more about him that he thought. 

Jim Gordon probably told them about him, if he was guessing. He was the one who got all the information on the people he's tortured before the Bats do. Perhaps he should start cutting their vocal cords as well, just to make sure they never talk again. It wasn't like anyone wanted to hear their screams.

Tim closed the computer, not even finishing the report. It wasn't like he needed it anyway, but as the old saying goes, old habits die hard. For the most part he does his best to block out any personal memories of his time as Robin, but there were still things that he couldn't hide. 

Robin. Where was he right now? Was he still unconscious on that rooftop where he left him, or was he back at the Cave, licking his wounds and surrounded by the people that loved him without question? That never once thought he needed to prove himself? That accepted him as one of their own without putting any work into it? That shoved Tim to the curb like nothing ever _happened-_

No. He had to stop. He had to stay  _focused._

Two-Face was just the beginning of his plans. He had to make sure he set everything into action, make sure that he wouldn't be distracted by a family that was never even his to begin with, wasn't distracted by the only true happiness he's ever felt.

Soon, he would be  _justice._      


	9. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said things would get better after marching season? Well... lets just say that was a big fat lie, but I'll still do my best to update as much as I can :)
> 
> Happy Holiday's!
> 
> Enjoy!

Damian was benched for a week until he healed up, at least, that was the reasoning given to him. He knew it was really more of a punishment than anything, but no one will call it that. Instead, they call it a, 'much needed break,' or, 'some time off,' and other ridiculous things that make this whole things seem better than it really was. But Damian knew his Father, and this was most definitely a punishment. He had no lasting injuries from his fight with the Demon, only a few cuts and bruises that he gets on a regular basis, so there was no real reason for him to be benched.

But despite this fact (and that he was starting to get antsy) Damian didn't argue like he normally would. For one of the few times in his life, Damian was willing to keep him mouth shut about himself being treated unfairly in some way. It was very un-Damian to do that, but he was willing to put up with it for the week he was benched. If anything. Dick seemed really happy that he wasn't arguing like he normally would be right about now. 

He still helped out in the Batcave of course, he wasn't _that_ useless. It was odd to be on the side with the screen, however, not used to the feeling of seeing everything around the vigilante's and calling out information without physically acting on it. It was almost more stressful than being out in the field, though he would never say that.

If Barbara did this all the time, then he could do it for a week, no matter how stressful. 

All of that sitting and waiting left a  _lot_ of time for Damian to think about things. Mainly, the Demon and what they were going to do next. He had a feeling it had something to do with that meeting the Demon was at, the one with Two-Face's gang. Doing a bit of research on that from the Batcomputer, Damian was able to find the beginnings of an investigation that Duke had started, mainly because for whatever reason, Two-Face decided to move closer to the docks, where The Signal's territory was. However, that investigation was quickly put to a stop, partially because of Two-Face going underground, and partially because Duke left to work on that drug ring case with Luke and Stephanie.

It wasn't much, not even a week's worth of investigation, but it was enough for Damian to get started.

According to what Duke had found, Two-Face had started the production of a new substance or drug, though he had yet to find evidence of a sample. Whatever it was, it was kept under close surveillance at all times and was known by only a select few in the gang. Never once has a civilian in the area reported a new drug on the streets, and very few even seemed to realize that Two-Face and his gang were even  _there._ It was nearly a miracle that Duke found them in the first place, a stroke of luck, even. The gang clearly didn't want to be seen for whatever reason, which was rather out of character when it came to Gotham's flashy and dramatic villains, but not unheard of either.

Damian bet that the Demon was interested in whatever this 'substance' Two-Face and his gang were creating, which was why they were at the meeting in the first place. Perhaps the gang had been discussing its distribution or a deal between another gang, something that would give the Demon and chance to snatch it.

It was a solid theory to go on, even if he didn't have a lot of details- but something was still _bothering_ Damian about the whole thing. Why in the world would the Demon torture Andy Salinger, one of Two-Face's suppliers, and cause Two-Face himself to go underground if they were attempting to take a sample of this substance? Wouldn't the extra security and secrecy as a whole make it harder to obtain?

And what about the others the Demon has tortured, the ones that came from nearly every gang in Gotham? Why would they intentionally make their presence known to the entirety of Gotham's underworld as if to let everyone know they were watching? Why not just stay hidden in the shadows like they've shown they're perfectly capable of doing?

There had to be a bigger reason than just stealing something from one gang out of the dozens the Demon could have chosen from. The Demon has proven that they're too smart to do anything by accident, so what was Damian  _missing?_

_"I want to watch that piece of shit **suffer."**  _

That's what the Demon had told Damian when he asked about Two-Face, wondering what they would possibly have to gain from him. Whatever the Demon's agenda was with the gangs and villains of Gotham, it was  _personal,_ so deeply personal that they would torture whoever they could in order to reach their goal. And the way they said it... it made Damian shiver just  _thinking_ about it. How was it that someone so seemingly dark and emotionless could put so much _power_ into their words?

"Is everything alright, Master Damian?" came Alfred's voice from behind him, as patient and calm as ever. Damian looked over his shoulder, seeing a tray with slightly steaming tea in Alfred's weathered hands. 

"I... I don't think so," Damian replied, sighing as the butler put the tea beside him. 

Alfred snorted fondly, saying, "at least someone in this family will admit it. I'm guessing you're working on that case that Master Duke started quite some time ago by now, seeing that the last time he opened his file was a month ago." Damian picked up the offered tea, soaking in its warmth. Tea has always been a comfort to him, even as a young child.

"It's... somewhat related to the case Duke was working on. I'm mainly worried about the Demon and what his motives are."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow, but didn't comment that Damian shouldn't be worrying about the Demon just yet. He has a feeling that the rest of the family was now looking into the Demon more, but that didn't mean that Damian was satisfied with being spoon fed information he could figure out himself. Everyone tried to dodge the subject around him, but Damian was a Wayne, and Wayne's are the stubbornest sons of bitches in this universe. 

"Good luck on your search, Master Damian." Alfred then left, probably to finish dinner for that night. Damian sighed again, running his fingers through his hair. He stared at the information on the screen, letting his thoughts swirl around his mind. 

He couldn't shake off this weird recurring feeling that he somehow _knew_ the Demon. But that was crazy, right? 

 

 

It was time.

Time for... the beginning of his ending. Something about that idea was soothing, to know that he couldn't turn back now, that somehow, this path would finally lead to a final end. He's been waiting for one for years.

The docks were just as secure as the Demon assumed they would be, guards covering every possible exit, all of them sporting a machine gun across their chests. Cameras covered the docs from nearly every possible angle, and there was no doubt that someone was on the other side of those cameras, watching every move, ready to report anything strange the second they saw it.

Finally, something  _challenging._

The Demon gracefully slid from one shadow to the next, making sure to time his movements with the blind spots of the moving cameras. He didn't touch the guards like he might have in a past life, content with letting them roam around like nothing was wrong. The last thing he needed was for someone to come check up on their friend only to find them missing or knocked out before he was ready.

The Demon eventually made it to the edge of the docks, where the exchange with the Metropolis gang would take place. Nia Proscaro and Daniel Freeman were already there with the package between them, waiting for everything to happen. It made the Demon smirk just thinking about it. 

The Demon positioned himself right above Proscaro and Freeman, out of their peripherals and hidden in shadow. Now, all he had to do was wait a little bit longer. He had to make sure he had an audience when this next part happened, had to make sure that what was about to go down had as many eyes and ears to spread it as possible. If he did it correctly, Two-Face would finally come out of his little hidey-hole, ready to foolishly defend his gang and pride.

Then,  _that's_ when the Demon would make sure he never saw the light of day ever again.

A few minutes later, a boat docked up to one of the harbors, and Harold Dorlis and a few of his enforcers walked off. Their greetings were brief and to the point, no wasting time or fooling around. It was clear that the Metropolis gang was eager to get out of Gotham as soon as possible, as most visitors were. The city had this weird  _repealing_ feeling that pushed those who weren't natives away, and kept those that were stuck to her walls. All outsiders hated being there, but all born and raised couldn't get away.

The Demon should know. He feels Gotham's pull when he's away, and it was especially bad when he was gone for years. 

"Is this the product?" Dorlis asked, gesturing to the package between Freeman and Proscaro. 

"It's everything you requested," replied Proscaro, her voice smooth and cold. "And what about  _our_ package?"

Dorlis reached into his pocket, pulling out a small drawstring bag. To the common outsider, it looked like nothing special, but to the Demon, it was priceless. The package that Proscaro and Freeman were giving wasn't as special, but the Demon wouldn't mind taking it either. And take he would. 

The Demon took out a sharp little knife, three inches long, glittering in the limited light. It would do perfectly for what he was about to do.

Proscaro lifted their package, handing in to Dorlis, who in return, gave her the small drawstring. Before either of them could say their goodbyes, the knife the Demon was holding was sailing silently through the air, and landed with a dead  _thunk_ in Nia Proscaro's back.

Proscaro stumbled, her companions clearly startled and unsure with what made her do that. It was only then Freeman's eyes widened with understanding, seeing the blade coming from her back like a misplaced porcupine quill. He rushed over to his boss, clearly distressed, but there was nothing he could do. It was only a few moments later when Proscaro coughed up blood and fell into his arms, growing still and dead. 

It happened so quickly that Dorlis and his men were still in shock, baffled by the sight of Two-Face's right hand woman being murdered right in front of them. Well, if they were shocked about that, then they were about to shit themselves with what came next.

The Demon threw another knife as Freeman reached for his radio, his stuttering voice attempting to call the guards and let them know that their leader had just been killed, but he was cut off by the Demon's blade, which impaled him in the collarbone. It wouldn't kill Freeman, but the drug laced into the blade would make him collapse almost immediately, giving off the impression of yet another of Two-Face's gang being murdered by a mysterious assassin.

Dorlis finally snapped out of his shocked daze, ordering his men to get back onto the boat and to get as far away from Gotham as possible. They all started to move with incredible speed, but not before the Demon threw yet another knife, this time aimed at Dorlis' hand, where their package was. The knife caused their package to fly from his hands, but just like the Demon had hoped, the gang leader didn't even pass a second glance at it, too intent on getting the fuck out of Gotham.

As the boat sharply pulled away, the Demon allowed himself to jump from his hiding place, landing right behind the two bodies. He made direct eye contact with one of the men on the boat, smirking darkly at him as his eyes widened comically. Now Two-Face would definitely hear about this, and the rumors would fly. Sure, the Bats might be much more intent on getting him now, but that was apart of the fun. Plus, they were bound to finally prioritize him as some point. Might as well do it on his own terms, do it in a way that he can control.

The Demon picked up both packages, ignoring the bright red blood that was on the little drawstring. That package went into a secure pocket in his suit, but there wasn't much he could do with the other one. It was much too big to hide and it was already as hidden from the outside world as it was going to get. The Demon waited there for a few more moments, listening for the sounds of the patrolling guards running towards the sound of their panicked leader, but nothing ever appeared. Hair prickled on the back of his neck, and suddenly, the Demon got the feeling that something was very,  _very_ wrong.

It was quiet. Much too quiet.

Without waiting there any longer, the Demon darted into the shadows, knowing that somewhere on the docks, someone was waiting for him. Someone that was never supposed to be there in the first place.

He left as quickly as he came, seeing guards knocked out everywhere he went. There was no question of who it was, it was just how quickly they realized that he was no longer where they thought he was. It was a race against the clock to get out of there as soon as possible, and hopefully escape undetected. He couldn't have them catch him now, not when everything was so  _perfect-_

-And that's the moment a batarang sliced through the air, much like his knives had done earlier. While the Demon was usually able to stop projectiles coming at him, even those coming with the speed and accuracy as this one, something in him...  _froze_ when he saw the shape coming towards him, something that didn't thaw until the batarang caused the package in his hands to fly from his once iron grip, it hitting the ground with a dull _thud._

The Demon immediately reacted, sending smoke bombs and electrical crackers behind him, darting out of the docks proper and into Gotham's streets, grappling to the nearest building. Panic was trying to bubble up in his chest, but he harshly shoved it down, refusing to let weakness touch him in one of the most critical moments he'll experience. He's been chased by Bats before, plenty of times, but those who want to kill him and those who consider him an ally, but this was the first time they've ever chased him as a criminal, and somehow... somehow the Demon wasn't  _prepared_ for that at all.

He couldn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he knew that without a doubt that Batman was behind him. The Bat was the only person whose ever made the Demon's gut twist like that, the only one who could be one with the shadows just as much as he could. He was being chased by the Bat, and somehow he had to get away before he called on back up and there was a whole flock chasing him down.

There was only one true option he had, if he was being honest with himself.

The Demon continued to throw various tricks and gadgets behind him, knowing that it would only annoy the Batman more than anything. He refuses to look back to see what was happening, but he could hear the soft swishing of the Dark Knight's cape and his landings as he crossed rooftops. During all of this, he brought out the small drawstring he had secured in his suit, opening it up and taking out the small device it hid.

It looked like nothing much, really. You wouldn't give it a passing glance, not for a small little box that looked more like an old fashioned radio than anything. But the Demon knew exactly what this was, what it's purpose was. The very idea of it could have put the entirety of Gotham at its knees, and with a gang like Two-Face's, no one would be spared in his wrath. If one really thought about it, it was really lucky that the Demon got his hands on it before anyone else could, even if he wasn't going to use it for heroic purposes. 

Harold Dorlis was a fool to give it up in the first place. As far as the Demon knows, this is the only working prototype, but oh well, Metropolis gangs were always less violent and smaller minded than those in Gotham, even when it came to alien technology. Whatever the reason, it would serve him well.

The Demon struggled to program the object and run away at the same time, especially as Batman began throwing back his own gadgets in retaliation for the Demon's. It slowed him down considerably, even causing him to run himself into a corner with no visible escape, the Batman gaining on him rapidly. The Demon cursed to himself, finishing what he hoped to be the last of the programing into the object. He would find out quickly enough.

He came to a stop as he came face to face with a wall, whipping around. The Dark Knight was staring right at him, looming over everything like he could somehow put fear into the very bricks he was standing on. "There's nowhere to go," he growled, "you might as well surrender now and make this easy on the both of us." 

Somehow, the Demon doubted that Batman didn't want to take out at least a little bit aggression on him, especially for touching his precious Robin, but he didn't provoke the Dark Knight like he otherwise might have. For the first time since he could remember, he was afraid that his mouth would say something that he would regret, that he would somehow reveal himself when all he wanted to do was stay in the shadows and hide.

He tightly gripped the object in his hand, his thumb hovering over the activate button. "I think we both know that nothing is ever easy when it comes to people like us," the Demon said before pressing down on the button, disappearing from his place in the world.

 

 

Anger. Frustration. Bitterness. These were common things to feel when the villain got away, especially one so dangerous. 

If only Batman had gotten there sooner, if only he had pinpointed the location of the deal Two-Face's gang was having quicker, if only he had taken down the guards more effectively, if only, if only. Maybe then Nia Proscaro wouldn't be dead, and Daniel Freeman seriously injured. Maybe then the Demon would be in custody right now and everyone could breathe a sigh of relief.

But no,  _somehow,_ in a way that not even the most advanced technology could explain, the Demon literally _disappeared_ from the face of the earth. Bruce has watched the footage over and over again, using every angle he could find, but nothing came up that he could explain. 

The only thing concrete that he was able to take into evidence was that case the Demon had dropped, the one that was now sitting it analysis, scanning for anything that might be dangerous inside or outside the case. One could never be too careful when it came to things like this, and while Bruce was anxious to find out what was inside, he was also a patient man. If it meant being safe, he would take all the time he needed.

At that moment, the Red Hood came into the cave on the Red Wing, a modified motorcycle that Jason, along with the help of Roy Harper (neither of them liked to mention just how similar it was to Tim's- never mind) had designed. It was a beautiful machine, one that could last long into the future with Jason's obsessive and meticulous care. 

The Red Hood took off his helmet and domino, becoming Jason Todd once more with a small smile on his face. "Whatcha got there, B?" he asked, running his fingers through his dark hair. It must have been a good patrol then, if he was so talkative. 

As Bruce was about to reply, the system running the analysis on the case beeped that it was complete, announcing to the world that whatever inside it was indeed dangerous and could potentially cause a lot of problems in the hands of a monster. Which brought up many questions, but first and foremost-

"Who the Hell got their hands on  _Kryptonite?"_         


	10. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone... it's been a while...
> 
> I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic, my life has just been a little bit crazy. I've joined winterguard, jazz band has just started, and I'm in the middle of my finals.
> 
> Also, if you haven't noticed, there are some Dexter inspired things going on here in this chapter. I just finished the series and OH BOY do I have some feelings about it.
> 
> Fucking lumberjack.

Gotham was is chaos.

To be fair, that wasn't an uncommon statement, but this was different than any other kind of chaos that Gothamites were used to. Gotham Rogues were known for going bezerk every once in awhile, poisoning various public resources, completely taking over entire sections of the city, going on killing sprees, breaking out of Arkham Asylum, things that were so routine at this point that no one should have batted an eye. 

But this wasn't like every other time. Those types of things were predictable, things that you expected to happen, things that you could prepare for. No one could have ever predicted or prepared for this.

Bruce watched the footage on the Batcomputer, studying the scene that was unfolding in front of him. It was of Two-Face, a maddened and bloodlusting Two-Face that was announcing a ten million dollar bounty on the Demon to bring him to the villain alive. The video had broadcasted itself to every channel in Gotham mere hours after the death of his right hand Nia Proscaro and severe injurying of Daniel Freeman, both which had been caused by the mysterious figure that has been terrorizing Gotham's Underground for months. Batman didn't even know of the Demon's supposed existence until a couple weeks ago, and it was only confirmed a week after that that the Demon was in fact working in Gotham at all. Somehow they managed to stay under the Bat's radar, at least until now.

Bruce closes the video, unable to keep watching for any longer. He couldn't help but think that maybe if he had paid more attention, maybe if he had been a little bit faster, than all of this mess could have been avoided. Nia Proscaro wouldn't be dead, Two-Face wouldn't have put up the bounty on the Demon's head, and dozens of different villains and assassins wouldn't have flooded Gotham to collect it. The police and the vigilantes were not equipped to handle such an influx of people with bad intentions, especially on top of the regular crime that was already given in Gotham. It was pure chaos: people getting murdered left and right, dozens of civilians joining the already massive manhunt for the Demon in hopes to collect the ten million, explosions every other night, and the worst part was that there was no patterns for anyone to follow. This in turn made the people of Gotham even more panicked, many afraid to step outside their homes in fear of what might be on the other side.

And all of it, every single part of it- was started by the Demon.

Sightings of the figure have only skyrocketed over the past days, everyone claiming to see the Demon in the shadows, killing random people and adding even more mayhem to the mix. It made tracking the Demon next to impossible, for they never showed up on any cameras and no one ever got a clear picture. Not even the Bat's could even attempt to keep track of the Demon, for even with Luke, Stephanie and Duke back from their mission and Damian back from being benched, they couldn't be everywhere all the time with so much going on around the city. It seemed that they could either let Gotham fall apart and search for the cause of this chaos, or they could devote every spark of energy they possessed to keeping everything afloat.

So far, keeping the city afloat was the option. But sooner or later they would have to make a choice, and that choice might be to go after the Demon before anything else could go horribly wrong.   

The worst part, at least to Bruce, is that he's positive that the Demon planned every moment of this. He may be the world's greatest detective, but the Demon has proven that they've been ten steps ahead since the game first began, meaning this entire situation has been in motion for far longer than he could potentially track. It didn't help that the case of Kryptonite he managed to take from the Demon was raising even more questions, questions that involved a full on investigation of Two-Face's handle in it as well as Metropolis gangs getting their hands on technology not known by anywhere else on earth.

Fuck. Just when was the point of no return? When did everything go sideways to the point of completely flipping everything upside down?

Bruce didn't know, and he would probably never find out. But right now, his home needed his help and he planned on doing everything he could to make sure it stayed together. The Demon, as much as he didn't want it to, had to wait.

He only wondered when what would happen next, because unlike nearly everything else in Bruce's life, he was in the middle of senseless, useless chaos. 

 

 

It was going  _perfectly,_ so perfectly that you would have never guessed that only a few days ago he managed to get himself cornered by the Batman himself, forcing him to use the technology he stole from Nia Proscaro's and Harold Dorlis' gang in order to escape. He was lucky that the Motherbox even worked after being inactive for so long, let alone that he was even in one piece, but it was fine. Part of the job was taking necessary risks, after all.

All of the confusion, all of the  _chaos_ made it easy for the Demon to move about Gotham undetected, even if half the city was searching for him. It was hard to find someone that couldn't be identified, and with everyone fighting each other, no one would notice the subtle change in the shadows that littered the city. Not even the Bats could search for him, for there was so much going on that all of their resources had to be concentrated on making sure Gotham didn't get torn to shreds. 

And now, sitting in an abandoned building in the middle of Crime Alley, Tim had everything he needed to make sure that Two-Face would never be a problem ever again. All it would take was one phone call and the madman would come running right into his trap.

Using a phone that Tim programmed to be impossible to track, he dialed the mob boss's number (one of the many things he had learned over the course of the past few months). A few rings later, Tim could hear Two-Face's voice on the other side demanding, "who is this?" 

"I heard you had a little score to settle with me," Tim replied back, his voice modified to fit the Demon's persona. "How about we skip all of the fluff and skip right to the part where I watch you die like that rat Proscaro died. I would be much easier on all of us, I believe."

Two-Face growled on the other side of the phone, spitting nasty curses at the Demon and how he was going to rip him to pieces for everything he's done. Tim only smiled, knowing that the mobster was too enraged about his right hand being murdered to be thinking clearly at the moment. If he had his way, he would never think clearly ever again after tonight.

"I'm at 358 Gorgon Avenue if you're interested. Come alone." And with that, Tim hung up on the mobster, smiling to himself. He knew Two-Face would come, that his pride was too great to pass up an opportunity to right whatever wrong had been done to him. All he had to do now was get into position and wait.

And oh, what a wait it'll be. 

 

 

Less than thirty minutes after being called, Two-Face was storming into the abandoned building, gun out and ready to fire at the Demon whose made so many problems for him. But he found nothing, the entire building devoid of any kind of life that would indicate usage. He tore the place apart, searching for the Demon, but never once did he look up in the rafters, for even if he had he would not have seen the figure in the shadows.

The mobster cursed and cursed, claiming that if this was all a trick that he would send the Demon to the deepest pits of Hell himself, and that's when the Demon silently dropped behind Two-Face. Without a sound, he raised a tranquilizing gun, shooting the knockout agent right into Two-Face's neck. The mob boss's movement became sluggish almost immediately, and he didn't even have enough time to turn around and see his offender before he became unconscious on the cold concrete ground. 

 

 

When Two-Face awoke, he was strapped horizontally to a table, wrists, ankles, neck, and even his individual fingers rendered unmovable. There was a harsh white light glaring at him, and even as he was weak from the poison in his veins, he instantly started struggling in his bonds, causing an outside voice to chuckle.

"You really never know when to stop, do you?" asked the voice, the same voice that talked to him on the phone from earlier. A dark figure blocked out the burning light, giving Two-Face the only clear picture that anyone has ever gotten of the Demon. It was surprisingly simple, meant for stealth more than actual intimidation like the other villains and heroes of Gotham tend to go for. Then again, the Demon didn't need a mask to be scary as Hell.

"What do you want you son of a bitch?!" Two-Face demanded, straining against the bonds. The Demon tilted their head to the side as if to show confusion.

"I wonder if you'll remember who I am, after all of this," they hummed. "No one else has, but then again, this will be more memorable compared to my... other activities." Without any prompting, the Demon took off their mask and hood, revealing a young adult that was... familiar to Two-Face for whatever reason. His hair was dark and just barely touched the bottom of his ears, skin pale from lack of sun, eyes a dark blue that told of unheard pain and nothing at same time. 

"I know you," Two-Face mumbled, scrambling to put a name to the face that seemed so familiar,  _too_ familiar to be forgotten. The Demon gave a small, cruel smile at his words, no other muscles on his face moving in response. It was  _unnatural,_ like a doll that was playing the part of a corpse.

"A long time ago, they called me Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne," he said, "though you probably know me better as  _Robin."_

Two-Face froze at that, the familiarity of the person before him suddenly making sense. There was no way to forget the face of one of Bruce Wayne's brats, especially this one, whose father was killed by Captain Boomerang himself. Drake-Wayne was all over the news a couple of years ago when he simply fell off the face of the Earth, resigning from being CEO of WE and not being heard from since. Not even the Wayne's seemed to know what happened to him, though officially they claimed that their young heir was traveling the world and didn't want any outside connections.

And now- now here is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, or at least, someone who  _claims_ to be him. And also claims to be Robin.

"You looked shocked, Two-Face, though I can't say I'm surprised. It's not often us capes freely give away our identity, especially not to the likes of you." He was mocking the mobster, making him scowl.

"Does Daddy Bats know that you're running around causing chaos?" Two-Face spit, "because last time I checked, Bats don't  _kill."_

"Bruce doesn't even know if I'm alive or not. But don't worry, I'll make sure he knows about your concerns." He moved away from Two-Face's line of sight, not even giving him time to process that Timothy was talking about  _Bruce Wayne,_ who he just basically admitted was the _Batman_ before continuing on like he didn't just drop a bombshell. "I, on the other hand, have a few bones to pick with you. I have many, _many_ bullet wounds and stabs from you, you know. Twelve, to be exact. But that's nothing compared to the amount of bullets and stabs you've given to the people of Gotham and the world."

Timothy's hand suddenly slammed next to Two-Face's head, making the mob boss jump slightly. "When I was younger, more naive, I worshipped the ground Batman stood on, thought that everything he said was law. When I was younger, I would've given you to the police to throw in jail, because that's what Batman wanted, that's what he believed. I thought I believed it too, but now I know it's just an excuse not to rid the world of scum like  _you."_ He pressed his index finger to Two-Face's forehead, his blue eyes alight with something that went much deeper than anger. He then disappeared just as quickly as he appeared, leaving the mobster slightly startled from this constant back in forth.

"So what? You gonna kill me like the Red Hood would? Like you killed Proscaro?" 

The deep chuckle Timothy gave in response echoed throughout the entire room. "No, that would be too easy, too clean. You don't deserve such an easy fate after everything you've done. No, I have something  _much_ more fitting for you.

"You see, Two-Face, I know just how much time and money you spent replicating the Kryptonite you planned to sell in Metropolis, how much of your other businesses you gave up on to make sure that nothing could go wrong. I know just how many ties you cut with the other mobs in Gotham, not wanting any of them finding out what you were  _really_ doing, how many good people you had to take care of to make sure the word never got out that Two-Face had found the secrets to make Kryptonite from scratch." There was a pause, very casual in its presence, yet so full of _tension._ "I also know that Nia Proscaro and Andy Salinger were the only two people in your entire organization that you trusted with those secrets, which is why I killed them. Think about it: if you had told Daniel Freeman like you had planned to all those months ago, then he would be at the morgue instead of police custody. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Two-Face was full out thrashing at this point, yelling, "you son of a bitch!" over and over again, but there was nothing he could do as Timothy appeared once again, this time holding a syringe of a dark green substance.

"So now, with everyone with those secrets dead, your mob with shatter into tiny little pieces until Gotham doesn't even remember your name. It's a good thing that I got the Signal and a few of his friends out of the city for a while, because who knows what would have happened if he found out before I got my hands on you." Timothy shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess Bats will never be ones to turn down a major drug bust, no matter how slim the details are. The more you know."

Timothy began lower the syringe, not at all paying attention to Two-Face's screams or demands about what the liquid was. He would find out soon enough, and then he would suffer for all eternity. He easily slid the needle into a vein and squeezed the liquid into his bloodstream, watching as the mobster's struggles gradually lessened until he remained perfectly still on the table. 

 

 

When Commissioner Gordon got an anonymous call saying that they saw Two-Face enter an abandoned building in Crime Alley, he almost didn't believe it. There have been so many reporting sightings of so many people that it was hard to keep track of them all, yet something in Gordon's gut told him that this one was different. Maybe it was the smooth way that the anonymous called stated his claim, without any fear or hesitation, but whatever it was made it so that Gordon was there on the scene himself.

What they found was... disturbing to say the least.

They found Two-Face alright, just not it the way they expected it. The mobster was strapped to some sort of table, rendered immobile, but he still wasn't moving a muscle. Gordon even had to get confirmation that he was even breathing, the movement so miniscule that it was nearly imperceptible. He didn't react to anything around him, just stared straight ahead with unblinking eyes. It was so creepy that Gordon had to step away from the body to go outside, taking a deep breath to get rid of the shivers running down his spine.

"Two-Face is in there?" came the deep, guttural voice of Batman from above. The Commissioner didn't even look up at him, nodding in response. "Is he alive?"

Another nod, but then something in Gordon made him stop. "I've never seen a body so...  _dead_ before," he admitted. "I know I've seen my fair share of death, but something about this was just... _horrible,"_ he shuddered, unable to get the image of Two-Face's eyes staring into nothing. "I know I should be grateful that at least it's over, that he's  _alive-_ but something is just so  _wrong."_ He finally looked up at the Dark Knight, staring into the white outs of his eyes.

"I think someone is trying to bring order where it doesn't belong."             


	11. Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Tumblr now! I'd love it if you came and talked :) https://alexthemagicaldevil.tumblr.com/

Things have calmed down since Two-Face's... capture, but not necessarily in a good way. No doctor can figure out what's wrong with him, why he seems to be dead and alive all at the same time, why he doesn't react to anything, and most importantly, what  _made him_ that way. According to the best of Gotham, there was nothing wrong with Two-Face on the inside; his organs were in perfect health, his brain was showing a normal amount of activity, and by all accounts, he was functioning perfectly fine without any outside help. 

But that's where the,  _'nothing wrong'_ stopped. Two-Face needed to be fed through a tube that lead directly to his stomach, needed to constantly be on an IV in order to stay hydrated, and by all accounts, he never seemed to sleep. His eyes remained disturbingly wide open, the muscles of his eyelids not even fluttering. He didn't react to feeling, though his brain scans showed that the receptors were lighting up in response.

There was something deeply  _off_ about the whole thing with Two-Face, especially when reports of his gang and the areas he controlled abruptly declined to nothing, like years of his influence never even existed. Investigation after investigation was launched, but no one could explain why Two-Face's gang dissolved so quickly and quietly, not even the Bats. To the people that lived in those areas in Gotham, it was a great relief to finally be freed from the mobsters control, but to those who knew the Underground better knew that nothing about this entire situation made sense. 

And then... there was the whole Kryptonite thing that Bruce and the rest of the Bats were trying desperately to understand. They had contacted both Superman and Superboy to see if either of them knew the origin of it, especially since the amount found in the case was much more than the combined amount of Kryptonite any of them knew to exist on earth. Neither of them could give the Bats any more information that they didn't already know, but Superboy did mention that this Kryptonite felt... _different_ than other kinds he's interacted with.

"It's not  _weaker,_ exactly," he had told Bruce with a frown on his face. "But it's not all consuming like it usually is. I don't know, like I said before, it's just _different."_

And  _that_ lead the Bats down a very weird road, one that Jason actually first pitched. "I know it sounds strange," he had said one day when they were all down in the cave, studying the chemical makeup of the green element. "But what if this Kryptonite was _made?_ It's an element, right? That means if you organize the protons a certain way then you should get Kryptonite. Chemistry and all that." 

It was a good idea. A crazy, unbelievable, what the actual fuck kind of idea, but it was the best thing that they had to go on. The problem was, none of the documents they had on Two-Face's properties had any sort of chemistry lab, not even a hidden one, which they spent an ungodly amount of time searching for. None of the mobster's remaining gang members- the ones they could find, anyway- even knew that their boss had any Kryptonite. It was like that case had popped into existence with no outside help, and of course they couldn't just ask the man himself what the Hell was going on.

So for now- they were all in the dark. And all the while the Demon continued on their reign of terror.

 

 

Jim Gordon, for all his years on the force, working with the Bats, and dealing with otherworldly beings and creatures, had never seen something like this before, something so perfectly executed yet horrifyingly terrible. 

At first, it was just Two-Face. It was no secret among those in Gotham's Underground that the Demon for whatever reason had a vendetta against the mob boss, even if they did go after others as well. The Demon has arguably caused more issues for Two-Face in the past three months than the Bats and GCPD combined, and it was very clear from all sides that the two were just bound to have a showdown at some point, which is seemed that they did.

The only problem? The Demon didn't just stop there.

Within three days after the anonymous tip lead them to the paralysed (the official diagnosis the doctors has given him) Two-Face, yet another anonymous called told the GCPD that they saw the Penguin enter a warehouse a few hours ago with some henchmen and never left. When Gordon got there, his officers only seconds behind him, the henchmen the caller had mentioned were all passed out in various places around the warehouse, but that wasn't the most interesting sight by a long shot.

What  _was,_ however, was the Penguin chained by his wrists to the ceiling, the man simply hanging there. But that wasn't all: he was talking, nonstop gibberish that blended together into a stream of nonsense that couldn't be deciphered by anyone. He giggled and laughed every other sentence, his cheeks streaming with tears that could've been from the pain of hanging there so long or the fact that his laughing created them. Either way, when they finally got him down from the chains, he didn't even seem to understand that they were there, not resisting their tugs or direction. Much like with Two-Face, his eyes remained unblinking, staring into the depths that existed to no one else but himself.

The next day, every business the Penguin was known to have control over suddenly shut down, and yet another mobster in Gotham's Underworld was obliterated from the map. 

What the Bats had been trying to accomplish for years, the Demon did just like that. It didn't even seem like they were trying, not when more and more of Gotham's infamous Rogues continued to popped up all over the city.

The Riddler in an old school building, his tongue cut off, fingertips removed, and eyes gouged out. 

Scarecrow wandering on the street, crying uncontrollably and cowering at anyone who got too close.

Victor Zsasz in an apartment, every single kill mark on his body painfully and skillfully removed and healed until he was covered in nothing but smooth flesh. 

Mr. Freeze trapped in the frozen section of a supermarket, his memories of the past several decades simply wiped from his mind.

Poison Ivy hanging from vines in the park, her skin no longer green and the powers she once possessed over the earth now gone.

Harley Quinn spotted and reported in a cafe, every inch of her trembling and unresponsive. 

One by one, every single villain that had done major harm to the city dropped into nothing. Firefly, Mad Hatter, Carmine Falcone, Killer Croc, Dollmaker, every one you could think of suddenly rendered useless by the unknown force of the Demon that haunted the city. The weirdest part? None of the villains were ever found dead, just severely disabled to the point that they were unable to hold any sort of control over Gotham anymore. In fact, if Jim's reports were correct, the only person the Demon had actually killed was Nia Proscaro, meaning that their kill count was lower than pretty much everyone else in Gotham, including many of her vigilante's. 

And her people were starting to notice to. Websites and social media had hundreds of posts about the Demon, the majority claiming that while brutal, the Demon had done more for Gotham in the matter of weeks than the combined efforts of the police force and the Bats for the past several decades. Many pledged their support to this new vigilante, citing how much crime has gone down due to the actions of this one person. Mob activity was nearly abolished, many former criminals scared shitless at the idea that the Demon might be after them next. Dozens of politicians suddenly found that all of their dirty laundry was being aired to the world, dirty scandals that Jim knew had been going on for _months_ that he hadn't been able to prove now exposed. 

Order was being brought to Gotham one brutal act at a time. And the worst part?

Jim had a sick feeling in his gut that the world was _better_  because of them. 

 

 

Whatever part of the Bats had been hesitant to go after the Demon before were now ripped to shreds. With each Rogue that was systematically disposed of (Hugo Strange, Bane, Black Mask) the more desperate they became, doing their damndest to find them. It all seemed to be pointless, however, for no matter what any of them did, the Demon still ruled Gotham with a power unlike anyone had ever seen before.

It was impressive, shocking, completely unexpected. It was downright terrifying.

Never once in his entire career as Batman has Bruce Wayne ever felt this powerless over the city he called home, never once has he questioned everything he knew up until this moment. It felt like the Demon was playing with him, just dragging Bruce and the rest of his family along by the throat with a bone chilling smile, not caring that they were getting stabbed by tiny glass shards along the way. The only good thing that came with it all was that there were only so many Rogues Gotham had left, so they at least had a place to start, to set up a trap. The Joker was surveyed by more security than ever before, though more and more voices from the public demanded that Joker should be handed over to the Demon, the support for the vigilante increasing with every villain found. Bruce could see the effect it was having on Jason especially, his second eldest barely saying anything in response to the new security on the Joker. A part of his son would forever be lost thanks to that monster, and as much as Bruce wanted to kill him, had thought about doing so many times over, he knew that he couldn't. It was the only way he could stay together, be the hope that Gotham needed.

That didn't make the thought any less tempting, but at least it was a reminder, if not anything else. Those like the Demon couldn't roam Gotham like they owned the whole city, couldn't be allowed to make their own rules with no repercussions. Anarchy would not rule his city, only order would.

Though, these days it was hard to tell the difference.   

 

 

That line blurred even more when Talia al Ghul showed up in the city one night, her presence just as fierce and bright as the green fire in her eyes. Though something about her was... different. She looked older than usual, aged in a way that shouldn't be possible. Talia wasn't near as a frequent of a user of the Lazarus Pits as her father, but she did use it enough to keep away any noticable signs of decay. Now, however, she looked... worn through. Gray ran through parts of her dark hair, brown skin wrinkling, eyes tired and filled with untold secrets.

It was almost pleasant to see Talia, especially after so long of no communication from her whatsoever. Not even Damian got any messages from her, like she just disappeared off the face of the earth, or worse, was ignoring her son. Bruce vividly remembers the hurt Damian went through because of those thoughts, how angry he had been that his own mother wanted nothing to do with him, and so soon after Tim-

But now, she was in Gotham like all of those years never happened, though the lines on her face say otherwise. Something  _had_ happened to her in these passing years, and something about the way she looked at the Dark Knight told him that he didn't want to know.

"Hello, Beloved," she said, Batman watching as she came closer. "Can we talk? I have something I need to discuss with you."

And just like that, Talia al Ghul was back in Bruce Wayne's life. 

 

 

When Batman arrived back at the Cave hours earlier than normal with Talia al Ghul in tow, Alfred didn't even bat an eye. Thankfully, no one else was back from patrolling, as he really didn't want to explain why Talia was there when he didn't even know yet. His children weren't very fond of the al Ghul's, especially Damian and Jason.

"Would you and your guest like some tea, sir?" Alfred asked, polite as ever. Bruce took off the cowl, nodding in response to his butler's question. As Alfred began to go upstairs, he turned to Talia.

"So," he started, "what did you need to discuss with me?"

And in that moment, Bruce swears that Talia's eyes have never looked colder, have never looked so old and fragile, something that Bruce thought she could never be. She was still beautiful, achingly so, but she was divided in a way he's never seen before. Just what could've happened to her, to change her so  _drastically?_

It took a minute for her to reply to Bruce's question, but when she did, it shattered his entire world.

"It's Timothy. He's the Demon."


	12. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr! https://alexthemagicaldevil.tumblr.com/

Revenge. It's a word that gets tossed around a lot in the hero and villain circles, a word that inspires so much in their hearts that their entire lives revolve around it. Revenge for the wrongs done to them, revenge for the people killed, revenge for innocent hopes shattered. Revenge for the past that can't ever be changed, revenge for their broken hearts that scream out into the world. Revenge for a single action that changed their lives for the worst.

It was a word Tim's been contemplating for a while now. He doesn't like using it, knowing how cliched it was and just how pathetic of an excuse it could be. But the more he thought about it, the more he considered his place in the world and what he was doing, he realized that there was no other word that could describe it. Him taking out his anger on the villains and Bats of Gotham, destroying Ra's al Ghul's empire, it was the most classic form of revenge that their was.

And yet, there's always been one person that he's wanted to destroy for the longest time, destroy like they destroyed him. 

Captain Boomerang.

The villain that started Tim's endless cycle of never ending darkness and nothing. The one that Tim nearly killed before Batman convinced him otherwise, the one that left a bloodied boomerang deep in his father's chest for him to find. Jack Drake had never been the most doting of fathers, but he had been Tim's last surviving family, the last thing he had to hold onto that connected him to a normal life outside of the constant bruising of a vigilante. Captain Boomerang had gutted his life without any remorse, and all he had to do to pay for it was go to a prison that he inevitably broke out of. It almost felt like a bad joke, the way it all played out, but Tim knew first hand that all of it was real, that the rules that he so desperately tried to live by had failed him and his murdered father. Boomerang had killed many people before Jack Drake, and he killed many people after Jack Drake. He didn't care about Tim's suffering, or how he changed that boy's life forever. But he would.

And when he did, Tim would make sure that Captain Boomerang would not live to do it ever again. 

And in that moment, Tim would finally get the revenge that's been burning in his blood for years. 

 

 

_"It's Timothy. He's the Demon."_

Those words echoed over and over in Bruce's mind, his thoughts scrambling to understand the meaning behind them. Yet no matter how many times he tried to reason with the words that had just come from Talia's mouth, he couldn't make sense of them. It was like she was speaking a different language, one that he understood bits and pieces of but couldn't fit together into a tangible idea. 

There was no way Tim, his  _son_ could be the Demon- no way that the boy he knew for so long could ever be capable of the things he's seen that monster do- because Bruce _knew_ Tim Drake. He knew just how sweet he was, how much he cared about the people around him, how he cared about the strangers of the world trying to live out their lives in peace. He knew just how brilliant Tim was, knew that he loved video games with a passion, knew-

That for whatever reason he decided to disappear from the face of the earth. Knew that he tried to kill himself, and that no one in the Bats ever found out about it. Knew that he hasn't contacted anyone for over four years.

Bruce Wayne  _used_ to know Tim Drake, used to know every little thing about the boy that so suddenly came into his life in his darkest moments, a bright little star that refused to stop shining until Bruce's ice had finally thawed. He  _used_ to know his son... but now... he knew nothing. In fact, he knew less than nothing. He had this idea of who Tim was in his mind, based on who he believed his son to be, but he truly didn't know. No one did.

"Talia," Bruce finally choked out, trying and failing miserably to regain his composure. "What do you mean, how... how could the Demon be  _Tim?"_

Talia took a deep breath, pursing her lips together. "I think it would be best if we both sat down for this part," she said instead, motioning to the chairs only a few feet away. Bruce compiled without much fuss, still reeling from the words. There was a possibility that Talia was lying, he  _knew_ that- but something was telling him that she was telling the truth. What did Talia al Ghul have to gain from telling the Batman that his missing son was actually the villain they've been trying to track down for over a month? It made no sense for her to lie, for her to come all the way to Gotham to tell him this. She could have just as easily sent a note or left a voicemail like she's done plenty of times before.

No. Something about this was...  _personal_ to Talia. He had just yet to fill in the pieces.

"When you went... missing," Talia began, "Timothy, as you surely know, believed you to still be alive while everyone else thought you dead. He became obsessed with trying to find you, refusing to stop even after everyone else tried to convince him otherwise." She paused, closing her eyes to collect herself, and Bruce didn't utter a word. He knew so little about the time when he was lost in the time stream, especially when it came to Tim. He didn't want to miss a single moment of it.

"He was desperate, I believe, desperate for anyone to believe what he was saying was true, desperate for help in his quest. He decided that my father was his best chance for that help. I don't know the exact parameters of the deal they made, but it boiled down to my father would help Timothy in any way he could, and in exchange Timothy would join the League of Assassins as my father's lover."

Bruce clenched his fists, feeling the age old anger Ra's always inspired flare up. He knew that Ra's al Ghul was creepily obsessed with Tim for the longest time, especially when the boy first destroyed a League base all on his own, but never once did he ever think that Ra's had any handling in Tim's journey to find him. But still, he said nothing, letting Talia continue. 

"So they did just that. My father assisted Timothy in finding you... and they became lovers. They were together for nearly four years, I believe, when something strange happened.

"One day I got a note, stating that if I ever tried to contact my father again then I would not live to see my son grow up. At the time I listened to the warning, unsure of its origins or what it even meant. I've gotten messages like that before, and I didn't want to put Damian in danger in case they turned out to be telling the truth. I had no idea who this mystery person was or what they wanted with my father, but I reasoned that he could take care of himself and that he wasn't in any real danger. I couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Tell me Beloved, when was the last time you've heard anything from my father? A threat, a ninja, a sign that he was still watching over the Bats and the rest of the world? Anything to tell you that he was still lurking around?"

Bruce considered the question, thinking back over the past few months, and then the past year. He couldn't recall a single time that Ra's had done anything anywhere, not a peep from the immortal. He hadn't really even thought about Ra's in that time, not until now at least. It was like he, like Tim, had simply fell off the phase of the earth without anyone really noticing.

A bad feeling was beginning to pool in Bruce's stomach. "Talia. What are you trying to tell me about your father?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I went to his Cradle after many failed attempts at contacting him in various ways. When I got there, the entire place was destroyed, and buried under all the rubble was my father's mostly decayed corpse, along with every single ninja that was stationed there at the time. The Lazarus Pit that was there was destroyed as well, and when I went to other League bases all around the world, I found the same thing. Death. Rubble. No Pit in sight." Her eyes hardened as she relived the memories, the green fire in them staring straight into Bruce's soul.

"The entire League of Assassins was wiped out in one fatal slash, and I'm trying to tell you, Bruce Wayne, that Timothy was the force behind it all." 

 

 

Digger Harkness was easy to find, considering he rarely ever left Central City. It was a pathetic use of Tim's detective skills, but at that moment he could hardly care less about Harkness' inability to hide himself effectively. It was amazing he wasn't already found by CCPD, let alone the Flash, who for all of his puns and arrogance was far from stupid. It was almost like he  _wanted_ to be found. Or he was just too cocky to really try anymore, knowing that Central City had just as many Rogues to worry about as Gotham. Though, knowing the Demon's work, it was easy to say that Central was quickly becoming the villain hotspot of the world.

The apartment Harkness was staying in was rather nice, mostly clean, a few bloodstains here and there, and had an entire closet dedicated to his precious boomerangs. Tim wondered if the one that killed Jack Drake was here in this closet, though he knew logically it was probably still locked up in evidence at the GCPD. Harkness wouldn't go out of his way to save a single boomerang like that, one of his smarter traits.

Tim looked through the boomerangs, looking for the one he would end Digger Harkness' useless life with. He wanted one that was as similar to his dad's maker as he could get it, the gleaming gold stained with crimson streams of blood flashing through his mind and refusing to leave. 

Finally, he found what he was looking for. It wasn't an exact match, more yellow than gold with a simple red stripe along the tip of one side, but it would do perfectly.   

 

 

Hours later, Digger Harkness returned to his apartment, humming to himself as he did. It's been a nice day, enjoying the lovely weather Central City had to offer, and after such a successful heist the other night, he was feeling quite good about himself. 

It was too bad he didn't see his own boomerang until it was embedded in his chest. 

 

 

Barry Allen was smart, a common fact that not many people seemed to take seriously. Sure, he loved to joke around and cause a little mischief, but at the end of the day, there was a reason he was one of the top forensics experts on the West Coast. The officers might get the glory of catching the criminals behind several crimes, but he was the one who put the pieces together, the one who created a story for them to track. 

Secretly being a hero helped, but hey, not one needed to know about that. 

That's why when he came to the scene of this homicide, he knew something big was up.

Digger Harkness. Captain Boomerang, dead on the floor with one of his own weapons lodged deep in his chest. Blood pooled around him, nearly framing his entire body in the red liquid, eyes opened in shock and horror. He didn't even have time to fight back. He didn't even know there was a fight until it was over.

It was hard to think that this was the same man Barry saw not 24 hours ago as the Flash, seeing Captain Boomerang get away with another carefully planned heist that he had been unable to stop. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time, after all, Captain Cold and Heat Wave were much bigger priorities at that moment, being the masterminds behind the plan and whatnot. He was sure that he would find Boomerang soon enough.

Not like this, though. Never like this. 

Barry felt numb as he went through the normal procedures of a homicide like this; look at the blood splatter, search for signs of forced entry, try to find any DNA that the killer might have left behind. Yet, Barry knew that he wouldn't find anything of use in this apartment, not with a crime as perfectly executed as this one. The combined force of the police could never find the killer after years of searching, but he knew someone that was worth more than the combined efforts of the CCPD.

That's why when Barry Allen was finally done reviewing the scene, he left and called Bruce Wayne. 

 

 

The sound of Bruce's phone ringing didn't register in his mind for several moments, so caught up in his own thoughts that the outside world ceased to exist. He should have been asleep hours ago- and believe him when he says is wasn't for a lack of trying. It was just that after Talia's recollection of what happened to Tim when he was lost in the time stream, after the proclamation that his son could be capable of killing people the way the Demon has, his mind hasn't been able to turn off. Even when he finally retired to his bed, the silk sheets still couldn't block out his thoughts. He ran through every conversation he's ever had with Tim, searching for a reason that a body so sweet could do so many horrible things. He tried to come up with a valid explanation to everything, that something was possessing Tim, that it was actually a clone and the real Tim was captured somewhere, but he knew that there was no use.

Timothy Jackson Drake was a murderer. Currently, that was the only thing that Bruce Wayne was sure of.

Bruce blindly reached for his phone, not even looking at the caller before answering. In hindsight, he should have realized that he was in no condition to do such a thing, but at that moment his body was running on pure instinct. The phone rang, so he answered, no questions asked.

"Bruce?" came the voice from the other side, a familiar tone that was tinged with something that sounded like grief. "Are you free at the moment? I really need to talk to you about something. I swear it's important, not like that time with the baby orangutans and the Trickster-"

"Barry," Bruce cut his friend off, running a hand through his mess of what he called his hair. He had no idea why the speedster was calling him, but he was willing to listen, if for nothing more than a distraction. He might not act like it in front of the rest of the League, but he really did care for Barry, even if he tended to get distracted at the worst of times and was constantly using his mouth to filter the thoughts his brain was too slow to catch. "What's wrong?"

On the other side of the phone, Barry paused. "Are you sure this is a good time? You don't sound too good, I could always call back later-"

"Now is fine. Just talk." 

Barry took a deep breath, and Bruce could very clearly picture the stressed man on the other side of the phone. "It's Digger- Captain Boomerang," Barry said. "He was killed last night. Murdered, actually. I was just at his crime scene and it's just-" the speedster took another breath, "something about it feels  _off,_ like, I don't think this was any random mob hit or someone settling a score. This is deeply personal. It doesn't help that the entire crime scene is spotless."

By this point, Bruce was halfway to fully dressed, dread washing over him. His limbs felt numb, but yet they still performed their function normally, like nothing was wrong. He almost wished that they would act like  _something_ was wrong, just for a moment so that he could tell that everything around him was happening the way he saw it.

If Captain Boomerang was murdered... did that mean Tim was behind it?

"I'll be in Central in two hours," Bruce said into the phone. "We can investigate it together."

Barry was sputtering on the other side, asking, "are you really sure? I swear this can wait if something really bad is happening on your side Bruce, you can say no-"

"See you there, Barry," Bruce interrupted, ending the call as he walked out his bedroom. He barely noticed Damian right next to him, attempting to talk to him, too far up in his own head to notice. He didn't stop by the kitchen, and unintentionally ignored anyone that tried to talk to him on the way to the Batcave. He moved swiftly, and soon enough the Batmobile was speeding out of the Cave and towards Central City.

Damian was left with a shocked look on his face, staring at the place where his father had been only moments before. Slowly, he looked back up at the entrance to the Batcave, seeing his mother standing in the doorway.

So much for family bonding time.     


	13. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alexthemagicaldevil
> 
> Also uh, there is a good bit of torture in this chapter. Just saying.

Breakfast that morning was very awkward for everyone involved. 

Or, at least, Damian assumed it was. It was hard to tell with Alfred, seeing as the butler has made it his life long mission to never show his emotions unless he had to, but everyone else, most definitely. Any situation involving Talia al Ghul would have been awkward on its own, but having Talia here, at Wayne Manor, eating at the table with the rest of Damian's family like everything was perfectly normal was just downright unbearable. 

The tension of the room could have been cut with Damian's sword if he really wanted to do so, and right now that option was looking more and more appealing. No one has said a word since they all sat down, since Bruce simply left his bedroom, walked to the Batcave, and sped off like he had something important to do with no explanation whatsoever. It was an extremely weird experience that Damian didn't want to go through again, not with his father ignoring his every word as if he were some kind of ghost. It wasn't unheard of for his father to go off and do something randomly with little to no warning, but this felt... _different._ Something was very off about father, and if Damian were a betting man, he'd say the reason for it had everything to do with Talia al Ghul. 

Talia al Ghul. His mother. His mother that taught him to kill. His mother that freely abused him when he didn't perfectly follow her instructions. His mother that hasn't spoken a word to him in nearly two years. 

She looked different than he remembered, older, more worn down, sadder. Something happened to her in all of those years she stayed silent, and Damian debated if he really wanted to know why. On one hand, he wanted to know why she disappeared off of the face of the earth with no warning, why she never bothered to contact her son for so long. On the other hand, Damian wanted nothing to do with the al Ghul half of his family line, not after learning the value of life after staying with father. It was a very conflicting battle in his mind that showed no signs of stopping, and he doubted it ever would for as long as he lived.

Damian stared at his mother, studying her features that he knew to be similar to his own. They had the same green eyes, warm brown skin, and sharp, noble lines that made up the edges of their jaws and noses. There was to mistaking them for anything other than family, yet Damian couldn't help but feel that was the furthest thing from the truth.

When he was a child, Damian used to worship her and grandfather as if they were living gods on earth, absorbing everything they had to say as if it were absolute truth. Now, he sees the flaws in them, just as he sees the flaws in his father and the rest of his siblings. Memories of his childhood sent sickly feelings through his stomach, especially when he thinks about his mother's smile every time he successfully completed a new kill. It was hard to believe he was ever like them, but it is something he cannot deny. He was an al Ghul once, but now he was a Wayne, and a Wayne he plans to stay until he takes his last breath. 

"What are you doing here?" Damian finally broke the consuming silence, his question hanging in the air like a guillotine. He expected it to sound accusatory, but instead it just sounded... defeated. Empty. He didn't know how to feel about that.

I had something to discuss with your father," Talia replied, finally looking her son in the eye. Damian was once again struck with how much  _older_ she looked than he recalled, and how odd it was that in all of his memories with her, she looked exactly the same. "I was hoping he talk about our discussion with you all today... though with him disappearing on such a short notice, it's hard to say when that will be." 

Jason grunted, eyes acidic as he considered Talia. His older brother wasn't exactly fond of his mother considering their messy past together. It was a miracle he was actually sitting at the same table as her, considering the stories he's told in the past. "Is there a reason you can't tell us what you and B were talking about? Must be pretty important if you came all the way to Gotham from whatever self proclaimed exile to tell him."

If Talia was at all offended by Jason's words, she didn't show it. "I believe that the words we exchanged would be better heard through Bruce. It was rather... sensitive in the matter, and I do not wish to gain even more distrust by you accusing me of lies. Therefore, I will not speak a word of it until he comes back."

The air in the room turned stony at that, the Bats glancing at one another. What was so sensitive in nature that Talia outright refused to answer their questions? A pit was steadily growing in Damian's stomach at the thought, many possibilities swarming through his mind. Was it about grandfather? Himself? A new disease that could kill everyone on earth? Or was it something more personal, something-

Every muscle in Damian's body froze, abruptly cutting off all of his thoughts.

Was it... about Timothy?

Talia's eyes never left her son, and she could clearly see the barrage of emotion that crossed his face in such a short period of time. She knew exactly what he was thinking, what he barely hoped to be true. If he only knew what news she had to tell, what had become of the boy he used to hate so fiercely-

But there was no time left for anything else before the emergency alarm went blaring all throughout Wayne Manor. 

 

 

Bruce arrived at Barry Allen's apartment in Central City in exactly two hours, which was a surprise to no one. The speedster didn't say a word when he waved the other man in, his face pale and expression close to something like grief.

It was so odd, comparing the Flash's and Batman's relationships with their respective Rogues. These days, the Flash was downright friendly to them, having casual conversations with most of them, convincing many to stray from the thrill of killing, and overall to Bruce it seemed like Flash was like a mother hen or something. Batman on the other hand... well it was odd. Some villains got along with Bats more than others, and some like Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were actually becoming decent people-

Well, that is, until the Demon got to them.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that to the Flash, many of his Rogue's were his  _friends,_ and Captain Boomerang at least somewhat fit into that category. He was mourning over the death of a friend, something that Bruce knows a lot about and has been through too many times to count.

Barry lead Bruce over to his desk, where pictures of the crime scene were already laid out neatly. There was a few scattered notes on them; observations Barry had made about a few details, but overall, there wasn't much much to observe. The speedster wasn't lying when he said the crime scene was clean, clean enough to set off a lot of alarms for this being just a simple murder. Murderers that kill for passion would have left the scene a lot more bloody, maybe even drag the injuries before actually killing their target. This looked like it was an assassins kill, a clean, effective one that left no time for any kind of struggle.

And yet... if this really was an assassin, why use something as personal as one of the Captain's own  _boomerangs?_ That was the question Barry couldn't answer, and it was one Bruce feared he could. 

Bruce studied the picture in his hands. The main focus of this one was on the boomerang that had killed Digger Harkness, most of it buried in the man's chest. It was yellow in color, not exactly bright, but light enough so that the red blood running down the sides glared in contrast. 

If there was any hope that Tim didn't do this, that he wasn't the one that murdered Digger Harkness, it was completely shattered by this one picture. The killer could have chosen any of the hundreds of other boomerangs Harkness had in his apartment, and yet they chose this one, the one that almost perfectly resembled the boomerang that had killed Jack Drake all of those years ago. If Bruce pretended that Harkness' face was slightly thinner and his hair was darker, he would have an eri mimic of Jack Drake's crime scene, one that he himself forced himself to investigate.

But gods... could this really be the work of Tim? His son? 

It could be a coincidence. It could be that the true killer just so happened to pick this exact boomerang without knowing what the implications behind it could be... but that's not what Bruce's instincts were telling him. This wasn't a random killer, some assassin with a contract to fill. And if Talia was telling the truth about what had happened in the year he was gone... 

"I know who did it," Bruce said quietly, not looking away from the photograph. Barry sharply inhaled at the statement, but otherwise remained perfectly silent for a count of three.

"Really? That quickly?" the speedster finally asked, his voice trembling. Bruce looked up at his friend, seeing the surprise and confusion written all over his face. But there was also something else there, a want for justice and punishment for what happened to Digger Harkness. Captain Boomerang wasn't the best person, not even a decent one, but Barry was protective of every Rogue in his city, no matter how dirty. 

If Bruce told Barry the truth... well, he honestly didn't know what would come of it. How was he supposed to explain how Tim, honest, awkward, justice loving Tim could have done anything like this? How was he to describe what exactly caused a boy that was so committed to saving others and preserving the law to become such a feared and ruthless killer?

But Bruce never got a chance to figure out a response before his phone began ringing a special alarm that the Bats used for emergencies only. He immediately took the phone out of his pocket, not even bothering to look at the caller before answering. "What is it?"

"It's the Demon," came Dick's panicked voice from the other side, sounding out of breath. "He somehow broke Joker out of Arkham. No one even knew about it until the video started streaming all over Gotham-"

"Dick," Bruce interrupted, trying to sound as calm as possible. He was already at the car, ignoring Barry's protests and questions. "What footage are you talking about? What's going on?"

His eldest son gulped on the other side of the phone, and Bruce was suddenly struck with the fact that Dick was holding back a sob, trying to keep himself together in a situation he didn't fully understand. It made his heart ache and twist inside his chest, made him realize that even with everything Dick's gone through, he's still so  _young._

_Just like Tim._

By the time Dick gathered himself, Bruce was already speeding down the highway at twenty miles over the speed limit.

"The Demon's broadcasting himself and Joker all over Gotham," Dick said shakily. "I just watched the Demon cut Joker's hand off with his own knife."   

 

 

The Demon,  _Tim,_ has never felt this powerful in his entire life.

Maybe it was the fact that he had Gotham's most notorious villain at his mercy, maybe he was still riding the high of killing his dad's murderer, maybe it was some twisted combination of both, but whatever it was, it was  _addicting._ And now, he was broadcasting that power to the entirety of Gotham, showing the whole city just how easy it was to take care of their worst problem, how he's doing something that the Bats have failed to do for _years._ He would be the hero they could never be, be the hero that Gotham deserves after so many years of fear and panic. 

He was going to kill the Joker for everything he's ever done. He didn't deserve a way out like the other villains of Gotham, didn't deserve to simply be taken out of commission. He had to be exterminated from the face of the earth, never to be seen or thought about ever again. 

But before he did that, he would have his fun.

Cutting off Joker's hand with his own knife was beyond satisfying. All of the crimson blood, how Joker helplessly struggled even as he laughed at the pain, the thud of his hand wetly hitting the ground below, all of it was perfectly heightened and amplified. The images burned into Tim's mind, the memories of what Joker has done to him in the past only edging him on.

He took the blowtorch next, using it to burn the skin of Joker's other arm. The chemically white skin blackened and flaked, ashes floating into the air. Tim was sure that there was a wicked smile on his face, not that anyone watching on the other side could see it, though he was sure they could  _feel_ it. After all, this was the happiest he's been in years. Sure, the Bats would eventually find him, seeing as there was one or two flaws in his programing of the broadcast, but that was simply part of the fun. All he had to do was give them a chase and disappear with the Mother Box, just enough time to show all of Gotham just how pathetic they were for trying to save a madman that's killed more people than any plague ever could.

"This is for everything he's ever done to this city," the Demon said to the camera, removing the blowtorch from Joker's arm and digging his fingers into the mostly burnt flesh. "This is for every child he's killed, every family he's torn apart, every drop of blood he's spilled, every bomb that's gone off, and for every time he's gotten away with it." He began ripping the skin off Joker's bones, as easily as wet tissue paper. The Demon barely heard the monsters laughs and screams, still to intent on the words he was speaking to all that were watching.

"That Bats have failed you for far too long. They've had every chance to deal with this monster that terrorizes our city, but they have refused to do so time and time again. H is only a man, a man that is killed as easily as any one of you sitting in your homes. He doesn't feel any remorse for killing our friends and family, so I ask you, why should we? Why should we care about his well being, when he's proved thousands of times that he will never change?" 

The Demon took a small knife, just under an inch in length, and stabbed it into Joker's eye. The madman couldn't even thrash in his grip, only make muffled noises behind his gag as the Demon ever so slowly carved out his eye. "Imagine what Gotham would be like now if this monster had been killed five years ago, three years ago, one year ago. How many more people would still be alive? How much pain would Gotham have been spared? No one knows, because the Bats never found the guts to do it. But I have. And I will. I will make sure the Joker never hurts anyone ever again, like he's hurt me, like he's hurt Gotham, like he's hurt  _everyone_ in this city!"

The Bats were closing in on him. He could tell from the vibrations in his suit, telling him that multiple bodies were less than a block away from his location, flying through the sky. He had no doubt that it was Oracle who cracked his codes, but that was alright. At least they'd be here for the finale. 

The Demon grabbed the largest knife he had, a beautiful, silver blade that was sharpened to perfection. "Now," he said calmly, placing the blade on one side of Joker's neck just as he hears the sound of someone shattering a window. They would watch the Joker die after all these years, see just how easy it was to make Gotham a better place. They would watch as he became a hero in the eyes of the city, and how they would fall into nothing. It made the Demon's chest light up in a way is hasn't in years, so much so that if he ignored everything else, he could pretend that nothing had changed, that he was still that young, naive boy that thought that world was filled with fairness and justice.

But he wasn't that boy anymore. 

"Let's give him one last smile, shall we?"  


	14. Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so February has been crazy, as in I had four major projects for school due in two days of each other kind of crazy, so that's why updates have been lacking. Thank you for your patience!

Bruce has never been more grateful that he remodeled the Batmobile so that it could also function as a flying ship. It's especially useful for when he's needed as Batman back in Gotham while he's in another city- but never once did a situation like this ever cross his mind. Never once did he consider the reason he would be rushing back to Gotham is because the Demon-  _Tim-_ was torturing the Joker and broadcasting it to the entire city. 

Oracle was already working on a location, searching for any and every flaw that could possibly be programmed into the broadcast, all while the other Bats were spread out through the city, doing everything they could to help. Bruce had changed into the cowl only a few minutes ago and was now doing his own part to help find the Demon-

_To help find Tim-_

Gods it was hard to think of it that way, but no matter how he tried to phrase it, there was no way to step around the fact that this was  _Tim_ torturing Joker,  _Tim_ that had killed Captain Boomerang,  _Tim_ that had caused so much stress in these past couple of months- there just wasn't. He could pretend all he wanted, call this monster the Demon to his heart's content, but that didn't change the fact that he was talking about Tim, his son, someone he's loved for years now and considered part of his giant, dysfunctional family. 

And then... how was he supposed to explain to everyone else what Tim had become? How was he supposed to look them all in the eye and tell them that the boy they loved so much was gone, replaced with a monster worse than anyone could imagine? How could he explain why Tim became that way, seeing as for the most part, Bruce didn't understand it himself?

Because how-  _how-_

Bruce flinched as Tim put a blowtorch to Joker's skin, ever so slowly burning it all off. Bile sharply raised in his esophagus, his mind unable to separate itself from Tim and how on screen he seemed to be  _enjoying_ himself. He's seen enough criminals in the past doing this exact same thing, and they all have this self satisfied air about them, like they're _proud_ of what they're doing. Tim, while you couldn't see his face, had that exact same air radiating through the broadcast, letting you know that he loved every single _moment._

"Oracle, please tell me you got somethin'," came the calm voice of the Red Hood from over the comms. "I hate the Joker as much as anyone, but I'd really like to find this sick bastard and make him stop." 

Bruce had no idea how his second son could be so calm during all of this, but so far he's proven to be one of the few level headed voices through the entire situation. Nightwing's been jittery and panicky since he first made contact with Bruce, Robin was much quieter than he normally was, and pretty much everyone else sounded like they were moments away from having a mental breakdown. Bruce knew that it was likely they were all listening in on the broadcast, trying to find evidence that could lead them to a location, but it was  _hard._ Torture was something none of them were strangers to, but this was different.

_Oh, if they only knew who was really behind the mask..._

He was less than five minutes from the city when Tim started digging his fingers into Joker's burnt flesh, ripping it off like wrapping paper. "This is for everything he's ever done to this city," the Demon  _(Tim)_ said lowly, his emotionless eyes staring right into the camera. "This is for every child he's killed, every family he's torn apart, every drop of blood he's spilled, every bomb that's gone off, and for every time he's gotten away with it."

Joker jerked in his captors grip, his muffled sounds of pain heard from behind hid gag, but the Demon's grip on him was like iron as he digged deeper and deeper into the ruined white skin of the Clown Prince. 

"That Bats have failed you for far too long," he continued, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather and not slowly killing a man for thousands to see. "They've had every chance to deal with this monster that terrorizes our city, but they have refused to do so time and time again. He is only a man, a man that is killed as easily as any one of you sitting in your homes. He doesn't feel any remorse for killing our friends and family, so I ask you, why should we? Why should we care about his well being, when he's proved thousands of times that he will never change?" 

_"I have his location,"_ Oracle blurts breathlessly into the comms, sending everyone the coordinates of the Demon and Joker. It was an abandoned building near WE, a building that was scheduled to be torn down and rebuilt in only a few weeks. Bruce instantly rerouted the Batmobile, feeling his heart rate incline as he grew closer and closer to where the Demon was hiding, knowing that everyone else would be getting there as quickly as they possibly could. Meanwhile, the Demon took out a short, sharp knife and stabbed it into Joker's eye, carving it out.

"Imagine what Gotham would be like now if this monster had been killed five years ago, three years ago, one year ago. How many more people would still be alive? How much pain would Gotham have been spared? No one knows, because the Bats never found the guts to do it. But I have. And I will. I will make sure the Joker never hurts anyone ever again, like he's hurt me, like he's hurt Gotham, like he's hurt _everyone_ in this city!"

Bruce tried to ignore the words as he arrived to the building, landing and jumping out of the Batmobile as swiftly as he could. Each word sent a little stab to his heart, unable to separate the Demon and Tim from their meaning. He grappled to the top floor, knowing from the coordinates that that's where he would fine who he was looking for. All around Bruce he would see the shadows moving from every direction, the rest of the Bats closing in on their target.

"Now," the Demon was saying calmly, much different from the rage that was infused in his voice just moments ago. At that moment, Bruce smashed one of the windows in order to get in, and he could see the lights of the broadcast happening from only a few feet away.

"Let's give him one last smile, shall we?"

 

 

The Demon sees Batman one millisecond before he cuts Joker's throat wide open, his thick blood instantly coating the entirety of the monster's front. The batarang that is thrown not a moment later is easily taken out of the air by the same blade that was now covered in blood. The Demon darts into the shadows of the building that weren't illuminated by the broadcast, knowing that the Bat would spend precious seconds trying to save the Joker in any way he could, even as he saw that there was no saving someone with an artery split that wide.

Those seconds gave the Demon enough time to leave the building and enter the cool Gotham night, the smell of blood and gore left behind. He almost missed its presence, mourning how he wouldn't be able to see the look on Batman's face when he realizes that the Joker is dead and won't be coming back, no matter what he does, how his greatest failure finally was taken from the world the way he should've been long ago.

He hears the Bats before he sees them, their panic and desperation to get to the building making them sloppy, their normally silent steps echoing in the night. They probably would've missed the Demon entirely if not for Oracle, who no doubt saw what happen inside and was doing her damndest to track his movements despite the emotional turmoil she must be going through. 

Red Hood is the first to spot him. The vigilante takes off in the Demon's direction, his large size making him an intimidating figure among the Gotham skyline. Not too many years ago, that figure slit his throat, did everything in his power to kill the Demon with no remorse. How was it, that in a family so strict on its morals and who they thought was worthy of compassion, did they let such a disgrace continue to be with them? Why was it that the Bats had no problem accepting a murderer into their ranks, but struggled to acknowledge a boy that was just trying to do his best in a horrible world bent on forgetting him?

The Demon didn't know, but he did know this: Red Hood would regret ever laying a hand on him.

Soon enough, the other Bats began following, Robin, Nightwing, Spoiler, Signal, Black Bat, and even Batman once he left the building where Joker undoubtedly took his final breath. There was no healing someone who lost that much blood, no healing someone whose head was nearly severed from a slit throat. Batman would have tried though, stupidly believing that everyone deserved to be saved, that everyone  _could_ be saved.

The Demon began giving them a chase around Gotham, throwing back various gadgets that he knew would slow them down but not stop them: smoke screens, firecrackers, his own version of a batarang, anything that would distract them just enough for him to stay ahead. His goal wasn't to get away, no, his goal was to simply yank them around, let them see that even at their strongest that they could never take him down, no matter what they did. The Demon could feel their frustration pouring off them like waves, all of them wondering how in Hell a single person was managing to outsmart all of them, like he knew what all of their strengths and weaknesses were-

_Oh, if they only knew._

The Bats were much too invested in him to notice the cameras around them, how they, just like the broadcast, were meant to show all of Gotham that the Bats were too incompetent to take him down. It was the purest form of entertainment: the underdog coming through and beating everyone who ever doubted them, everyone who thought that they were stronger. 

The Demon played with the Bats for nearly an hour before he decided that he was done with their little game. No plan that they came up with managed to work as they hoped, and by now the Demon was sure that even with their extensive stamina that each and every Bat was exhausted beyond recognition. Now, it was time for him to disappear.

He glided into an alley that was devoid of my cameras, making it look like the Bats had finally cornered him into a place he couldn't run away from. He played the part, halting at the end of the alley when came to a brick wall, acting surprised that it was there, whipping around when he heard the many footsteps of the Bats following him. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, not anymore. At least, that's what they thought. They thought that the Demon would finally answer to his crimes, that their nightmare was finally over, but they couldn't be further from the truth.

"Are you done running?" Red Hood snarled, his voice low and growling. He sounded like he was riding the Pit, like he was moments away from breaking into full scale madness. The Demon was impressed, knowing that only a few years ago that Red Hood wouldn't have been able to resist that break into madness, that he would snap with a single word. Ironically enough, it was usually _Joker_ or  _Robin_ that caused that break, and now, in the face of both, even unknowingly, he still held it together.

"I thought you of all people would appreciate my gift, Red Hood," the Demon replied. "After all, I'm doing what you've wanted to do for years now. The Joker will no longer hurt anyone ever again."

"You don't know the first thing about me you fucker," Hood snapped, a gun suddenly in his hand and pointing at the Demon. "You don't know  _jack shit,_ so why don't you put your hands up and get on the ground before I decide that you should be filled with lead."

Nightwing put a strong hand on Red Hood's wrist, slowly forcing the other vigilante to lower the gun until the barrel was to the ground. "I think you've made your point clear after tonight, Demon," Nightwing said, his voice tight with emotion he was trying desperately to suppress. It was satisfying to know that he evoked such a strong response from Nightwing, to know that he was breaking along the seems just like the Demon did long ago at Nightwing's words. "So why don't you just surrender know and save us all-"

"Tim."

The Demon's mind suddenly stopped, the hand that was slowly getting out the Mother Box freezing in place. The only part of his body that could move were his eyes, which quickly found the owner of the voice. Batman. Bruce.

Dad.

The rest of the Bats looked like they just got shot, physically flinching at the name. Their posture's showed that they were confused and hurt, wondering why in the world their leader would bring up a name with so many memories hidden behind it to a villain like the Demon. The only one that didn't look surprised was Robin, a grim look of acceptance and pain written across what parts of his face could be seen. 

Batman took a step forward, ever so slowly raising both of his hands, like he was approaching a wild animal. The Demon watched him coldly, any feeling that was left in his chest going numb. He knew logically that it was only a matter of time before someone found out, that someone finally put the pieces together on who he was, but not now, not at his moment of triumph. Something gave him away, and he has no idea what it was.

"I know about Ra's al Ghul," the Dark Knight whispered, his voice still managing to echo throughout the alley. "I know about Captain Boomerang. I know that you've been hurting for a long time, and I know I didn't see it until it was too late. Please, Tim, you don't need to do this anymore. We- your  _family-_ can help."

The silence afterwords was thick, nearly suffocating. It took all of the Demon's willpower to not shake, to keep his body as emotionless as possible. Even after everything he's done, Batman-  _Bruce-_ thought that he could somehow still be saved, like he was just a broken machine that would work just fine after replacing a few parts. That's all he is is, has ever been in his life; a machine to be tinkered with to fit another's desires.

Bruce Wayne was a fool. Timothy Jackson Drake couldn't be fixed, not after all this time. He didn't  _want_ to be fixed, didn't want to just be another puppet in someone else's show. Bruce has never understood that, and even now he still played the part of the hopeful fool that could eventually pieces together his greatest mistakes.

No. Tim would never again be a puppet in the life of Bruce Wayne and his perfect children.

"Br- _Batman,"_ Spoiler stuttered, her fists clenching at her sides. "Are you trying to tell me that this- this  _villain_ _-_ is _Tim?_  That's impossible- Tim would never-"

"It's Tim," Robin interrupted. "That's why Talia is here, isn't it? She wanted to tell us why the Demon had such a vendetta against us, why all of this was happening."

Talia al Ghul. Tim should have- her should have killed her when he had the chance. He should have made sure that no one would ever be able to expose his secrets to the world, should have made sure she stayed gone for good. He was foolish to think that she would ever stay away forever, that she wouldn't eventually figure out what he is and what he's done. It seemed obvious now, how that one misguided thought lead him to where he is now.

All of his plans felt cracked, and Tim suddenly realized that he had to end everything now, before they discovered his base of operations and everything else he's hidden. He had to accelerate everything- had to make sure that the world never saw him again. He's accomplished everything he set out to accomplish, killed the people that needed to be killed and helped the people of Gotham, but he couldn't stay to watch everything fall into place.

Nightwing was approaching him now as well, emotions crossing his face like water, so easily and fluidly that it was hard to focus on them all: Joy, fear, hope, worry, anger, relief, love, hate. The vigilante was desperately trying to understand everything, trying to understand how someone he saw as a little brother could do everything he's seen the Demon do. "Tim?" he asked, such a broken question that caused all of the Bats to step closer, disbelief and want echoing through them. 

Tim tightened his grip on the hidden Mother Box, knowing that all it would take was one push of a button to take him away from this place, to salvage everything the best he could. But he couldn't do it, couldn't make himself press the button. He was surrounded by too many memories, too many faces that thought they knew him, too many faces that were actually  _looking_ at him for the first time. He was so distracted that he didn't even notice Robin moving, activating one of his many gadgets at his disposal.

Only a few minutes ago, Tim had complete control over everything happening around him. Now, he had as much sway over the world as a fly; insignificant and annoying.

"Who did this to you, Tim?" Nightwing was saying, so much affection and  _hurt_ etched into his words. "Why are you doing this?"

And that's when whatever was holding onto Tim shattered into a million pieces, leaving behind only the cold exterior that the Demon's mask reflected. A laugh erupted from his throat, a harsh sound that gradually crescendoed into the cool Gotham night. He sounded like every other crazy villain that's walked the earth, sounded broken and empty. To think that he tired to call himself a hero, that he thought he would be anything more than a broken little boy.

Even after all this time... they still didn't  _know._

"Why am I doing this?" Tim finally questioned, his voice low and barely hearable. "Who did this to me? Well, that's quite simple, Nightwing." Ever so slowly, Tim took off the hood and mask, leaving his face bare to the world so that they could see him, see how much he's changed.

_"You did."_         


	15. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like we're getting close to the end of this fic... maybe another chapter or two after this one :)

Damian felt like he was wasn't watching the scene in front of him through his own eyes, but someone else's. The sounds around him were muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton; his sense of touch numbed until he wasn't sure if he was still holding his sword or not; his eyesight taking in the colors around him as slightly too bright to be normal. He could hardly breathe, could barely think accept for the one word that kept repeating in his mind over and over again:

_Timothy._

All of his memories of the former Robin flashed before his eyes: all the times he tried to kill Timothy, the words of praise his Grandfather had constantly given, the haunted look in Timothy's eyes as everything shattered around him. Damian also remembered how he felt, the sick, burning pleasure of the former Robin's blood on his hands, the desire to see him fail miserably, the want for his Father and Richard to forget Timothy ever existed. At the time his feelings felt justified, knowing that he was simply doing what the true blood son of the Dark Knight should be doing in order to prove his worth, to prove that he was a worthy son and warrior. 

But now... he knows just how much his actions damaged Timothy, how it burned to know that he would never be able to take it back. If he could go back in time and change one thing, it would be to make sure his younger self treated the former Robin like an actual person and not like some stand in that's only purpose was to die at his hands.

If he had done that, then maybe Timothy wouldn't have done all of these terrible things, wouldn't have caused so much pain and death. Everyone else would probably insist that it wasn't his fault, that he was only a child at the time and didn't know any better, but Damian knew that it was true. Nothing could ever excuse what he made Timothy go through, no matter if he was a child or not.

Damian barely noticed his own movements as he pressed a button on his communication device, one that would send all of its footage live to the Titans Tower. He probably should have contacted the Birds of Prey or even the Justice League instead, but Damian knew that if anyone deserved to know that Timothy was alive, it was the Titans. Logically, he knew that it wasn't the smartest move, but his emotions didn't care.

Timothy's mask was off his face now, his features glaring harshly into the night. His skin was much paler than Damian remembered it ever being, his blue eyes nearly black and lacking in any substantial emotion. His hair fell around him like ringlets of oil, and Damian couldn't help but think of Timothy as some sort of avenging angel. Even after all these years, after all the pain and heartbreak, Timothy still managed to look regal and unshakable. If it wasn't for the slight tremor in his voice, you never would have thought that anything was possibly wrong with him.

_"You did,"_ he hissed, his voice so bitter that Damian couldn't stop the flinch that took control over his entire body. Hearing the Demon's voice without the modifier he's grown used to was a shock, as if some part of him was still hoping that it wasn't Timothy. But there was no mistaking that voice, no mistaking that face or anything else. It seemed so obvious now, so clear. How didn't they realize it before? How blind could they have been to miss everything entirely?

"You made me into this  _monster_ long before I ever realized it, ever accepted it. You used me like a shiny new toy and the threw me away when I stopped being useful. None of you ever stopped to consider how the world treated me, how being tossed around would affect your perfect _soldier._ Many of you here have tried to kill me, to send me away, to make the whole world _forget_ that I ever had a place in it, and now you're _surprised_ that it's come to bite you in the back. If I had been _anyone_ else, _all_ of you would have cared about me! But no, you tell me I'm crazy, you beat me, you make scars all along my mind and body, like I'm some worthless piece of scrap that doesn't have any purpose but to be used again and again and _again!"_

Timothy was gasping for breath now, his words echoing in the silence that's surrounded the Bats. Not even Father or Richard could find words to say, both of them stunned into complete stillness. 

"Tim," Father finally whispered after a minute, creeping closer to Timothy as if he were approaching a startled animal. "I'm sorry we made you feel that way, please-"

"No," Timothy snapped, shoving the Demon's hood back over his head and bringing out a small, box like device. "I'm done listening to your excuses, done being manipulated by you and this entire family you've created without me. Stay out of my way, don't try to find me. After today you'll never see me again."

Damian was hit with a sense of deja vu- he knows he's heard or seen those words before, knows that this wasn't the first time Timothy has said that exact same thing- but he didn't have time to think. Timothy was about to press something on the box in his hand, and he has no idea what will happen if he does. He has to stop it- has to do  _something-_ but even as he begins to run he knows that he will be too late. He doesn't have super speed, there's no way he can make it in time-

And that's when a flash of red and blue rushes past him, and the box in Timothy's hand smashes into a million pieces.

 

 

For several moments, Tim was so stunned that all he could do was stare at the shattered pieces of the mother box. When he finally looked up, he desperately wished he hadn't, wished that he had just grabbed the grapple gun in his belt and bolted, wished that he was anywhere in the entire world but right here, trapped in his own memories. 

It was Kon, hovering only a few feet away with a look of happiness and disbelief written all over his face. "Tim?" he asked, filled with hope he dared believe to be true. Tim felt like everything was crashing around him without his permission, every detail he had planned out for  _years_ suddenly falling apart in only a few minutes. Kon was never supposed to see him again, never supposed to even _find_ him. Tim had made sure of it, made sure to line everything he wore in lead so that he wasn't able to be seen and took Kryptonite pills every day so that even his heartbeat was impossible to find.

_How_ _did he find me? Someone must have-_

There was no time to think, no time to wonder. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Tim released a smoke grenade that was filled with Kryptonite and grabbed his grapple gun, disappearing over the ledge of the brick wall before any of the Bats could even blink or get their bearings. It wouldn't be like that for long, but at least Kon would be out of the way, for a little while. There wasn't enough Kryptonite in that bomb to kill, just disable, and as far as Tim knew, Kon still couldn't detect him without outside forces helping him.

He darted across the Gotham skyline, already hearing the flourishing of capes behind him that signaled that the Bats were in pursuit. This time around, Tim felt fear and adrenaline crawl up his throat and fester in his chest, knowing that now he didn't have a way out. The mother box was destroyed beyond repair, and he had no way of fixing it. 

Dammit. Dammit dammit  _dammit-_

A batarang snagged the edge of his cape, but Tim whipped around the corner before it had a chance to release whatever trap in had. He heard the mechanisms go off behind him, along with what sounded like a net snatching at nothing. They were all slowly gaining on him, fueled with the new knowledge that Tim Drake was alive. Tim Drake on the other hand, was weighed down by his secrets suddenly let out into the world, his limbs growing heavier with each passing minute. 

_They're going to catch me,_ Tim thought, defeated and emotionless.  _After all of this, after all these years... they're going to catch me._

The next time Tim blinked, there was a blur of red and blue in front of him, and he slammed into something large and solid. Steel like arms wrapped around him before he could fall, tightening like they were terrified he would try to run away. But Tim simply squeezed his eyes shut and went limp, knowing that this game was over, that he was once again trapped and confined to a place that wanted to change and use him. Kon seemed surprised that he gave up so quickly, arms loosening ever so slightly, bit still, Tim didn't move.

"Is it really you?" the half-Kryptonian asked shakily, his voice trembling and scared, like he thought Tim would disappear into thin air if he looked too hard. Despite everything crumbling around him, despite the cage that was just sealed around him and locked tightly, Tim found himself chuckling at the question. It was a low, broken sound that permeated the air. The Bats were all behind him now, though he doesn't remember their footsteps getting closer or stopping.

"No," Tim replied simply. "I haven't been for years." 

 

 

They put Tim in a prison cell.

There was no other way to describe it. Bruce has never thought of the containment unit in the Batcave as a prison cell, but that was before he saw his son trapped in there, forced into its clear and impenetrable walls like some sort of insect. Tim didn't resist at all, wordlessly taking off the layers of the Demon and putting on the simple grey clothing he'd been provided, never once flinching as Bruce took various DNA samples like blood or hair. Like this, Bruce could see the scars that he's never seen before littering his son's bare arms and exposed neck, could feel the weighted nothing in his dark blue eyes. It was almost like looking at a ghost, knowing that the figure was there and real, but unable to stop yourself from looking right past it like it doesn't exist, _can't_ exist.

Even now, with Tim Drake confirmed alive, he was still a ghost. Who did that say more about, Bruce, or Tim?

Kon-El had refused to leave Tim's side for more than a few moments since they got him to the Batcave, and he wasn't the only one. Both Dick and Cass constantly circled Tim like they wanted to get close like the half-Kryptonian, but neither of them actually fell through with it, like they were terrified that getting too close would suddenly set their brother off. Bruce wasn't entirely sure that they were wrong.

It didn't help that only a minute after they arrived to the Batcave, the rest of the Titans appeared demanding to see their former leader. Apparently Kon had been the only one in the Tower when Damian had sent out his message, but the rest of them found out shortly after, which was why they were in Gotham now. Tim hadn't reacted to seeing them, or to their questions, but then again, Tim hasn't reacted to anything since the device he had brought out was broken by Kon. It's pieces were being analyzed now, though Bruce believed it was going to be a little while until they knew what it was.

The Titans hadn't reacted nearly as calmly about the whole putting Tim in the containment unit thing. While they didn't say anything outright, the air of hostility towards the unit was hard to ignore with all of them glaring at it like it was the most evil thing in the universe. This was another thing Tim seemed content to ignore, his eyes staring right past all of them and into nothing. If he hadn't been slowly breathing, Bruce would have thought the body in the unit was a corpse that had been long dead. The Titans have been trying to talk to him for nearly an hour now, all of them desperately trying to reach the boy they once knew and cared about. He could see all of their unshed tears, how they were doing everything they could to hold it together, especially Kon.

It was moments like this that Bruce remembers that Kon and Tim had once been dating without any of the Bats knowing about it, that his son had intentionally kept a secret from him and the rest of his family. Most days, that fact felt so far away that he barely acknowledged it, but now it was glaring him in the face, watching how tenderly Kon looked at Tim and how gently he coaxed Tim to move.

Why had Tim kept that from them? Did he think they'd be mad, that they would care about him dating a guy? Bruce didn't think so, but then again, not even the Titans would tell him why they felt the need to keep the relationship a secret, even after so many years. They were fiercely protective of Tim, even before he disappeared, and his disappearance only made them more tight lipped on what really happened. In fact, the Titans haven't interacted with any of the Bats unless absolutely necessary for years... until now. Then again, this probably counted as something they believed to be absolutely necessary.

Bruce tore his eyes away from the containment unit, looking around the Batcave to see what his various children were doing. Jason had left almost immediately after arrival, claiming that he wanted to rendezvous with the police to make sure they had everything under control, but he had the feeling that Jason was overwhelmed by everything that had happened, and needed to get away for awhile. Duke went with him, a knowing look on his face that told Bruce he wanted to make sure the second eldest didn't hurt himself in any way. Stephanie followed soon after Jason and Duke left, barely bothering to hide the way he eyes never once landed on Tim, her voice tight but monotone, like she was using all of her energy not to sob. Bruce wanted to comfort her, he really did, but he didn't know what to do. None of them did.

Luke and Cass were sitting closest to Tim, though noticeably apart from the rest of the Titans. They seemed to be trying to soothe one another, their hands weaved tightly together as they stared at their brother, not saying a word. Dick hasn't stopped pacing for a long time now, seemingly unable to stop moving long enough to even take the Nightwing suit off. And Damian...

Well, Bruce honestly doesn't know where his youngest went. One moment he was there, the next he wasn't. He should really-

Tim suddenly tensed, his previously empty face abruptly filled with emotion. His once unseeing eyes were glaring harshly at something, and when Bruce turned around to see what he was looking at, he froze. 

There, at the top of the stairs that lead into Wayne Manor, was Talia al Ghul.          


	16. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17 chapters it is.
> 
> Also my school has canceled school for the next couple of weeks so hurray for people panicking about this stupid virus.

Dick Grayson was nearly dead to the world around him to really process anything going on. He was too caught up in his own head, replaying the words Tim had spoken to all of the Bats over and over again, making his chest and heart ache. 

_"You made me into this monster long before I ever realized it, ever accepted it."_

_"You used me like a shiny new toy and the threw me away when I stopped being useful."_

_"If I had been anyone else, all of you would have cared about me!"_

_"But no, you tell me I'm crazy, you beat me, you make scars all along my mind and body, like I'm some worthless piece of scrap that doesn't have any purpose but to be used again and again and again!"_

These things demonically echoed in Dick's mind as he wandered the Batcave, desperately looking for something but not knowing what it is. Those words felt  _personal_ to Dick, like they were all specifically targeted towards him. In all honesty, he wouldn't be surprised if they were, in fact he  _expected_ Tim to blame him for a lot of things, but knowing it and hearing it were two very different things. It hurt more than any bullet wound could, ached more than any poison Ivy could create. Then again, Ivy could no longer use any of her powers, and that was all because of Tim. So many things have because of Tim- death, destruction, chaos- 

But Tim also brought Bruce back from the brink, made sure that Gotham continued to have a Batman the citizens could look up to. He fought for justice and peace like every Bat, saved the world more times than anyone could could. Dick  _had_ to believe that the Tim he remembered was still in there, buried underneath all the hate and sorrow, like a ghost trapped in the walls of its own coffin. If not... if not...

So up in his thoughts, Dick completely short circuited when he saw Talia al Ghul in the Batcave, having totally forgotten about her existence. It seemed so long ago that they were all sitting awkwardly around the table, wondering where Bruce had gone to and why Talia had suddenly appeared in their home after years of silence. He remembers what Damian had said, how Tim was the reason Talia had shown up after all these years, to tell them why the Demon had such a vendetta against their lives. 

No wonder she hadn't wanted to talk about it until Bruce got back. If she had come out and said that the Demon was actually Tim trying to get revenge on them... well Dick knows that wouldn't have been taken well at all. They already had a rocky relationship with the al Ghul's, even Talia was sometimes on their side. There was too much history between them all, too much blood.

Dick could sense more than see Tim's hatred for Talia, the feeling boiling off of him in crippling waves that bled into the damp coldness of the Batcave. For the first time since his arrival, Tim's eyes were bright with emotion, his thoughts clearly written across his face. Talia showed no signs of caring about this anger, only staring at Tim in return from her place at the top f the steps. The Titans didn't look too pleased to see her either, but that was probably to be expected from the heroes who never saw the other sides of al Ghul nature. They might have allowed Damian to set up a communications link with the Tower, but they weren't on exactly friendly terms with him. Damian's never seemed to mind, but then again, he was always good at hiding how he really felt about the people and events around him, so maybe Dick shouldn't take that at face value.

It was at that moment that the Batcomputer also decided to chime in on the situation, happily beeping that the various tests it was running were all complete. Bruce immediately up in a few commands for the computer to follow before turning back to the rest of the group gathered in the Cave. "I know there are a lot of things that need to be discussed... between all of us," Bruce started cautiously, his eyes staying on Talia for a few seconds longer than what was probably necessary. "Perhaps we should all migrate to the Manor to do so."

Kon instantly scowled at the idea, his right hand clenching into a frustrated fist. "And leave Tim all alone down here? Not a fucking chance."

The tension in the room stretched, wrapping around everyone's neck like a vice. Dick suddenly found it harder to breathe, noting how the half-Kryptonians eyes were starting to tinge red with anger. Despite himself, Dick found himself reaching for the small package of Kryptonite that he had in his utility belt, the one that every Bat was required to have. Bruce however, didn't even look phased, meeting Kon's eyes easily.

Just as Dick was positive the tension would snap, Bart put a hand on Kon's shoulder, and all of the anger seemed to drain from the half-Kryptonian. "We will join you," Cassie said stiffly, as sure and strong as ever. She looked to be the most put together of the Titans, the most calm and steadfast, but it occurred to Dick that she  _had_ to be. She was their leader, their source of comfort and stability. If she broke... well, the Titans wouldn't make it. The disappearance of Tim nearly shattered them, and now his reappearance was threatening to do the same. They had a side of the story, a side of _Tim,_ that no one else knew about, that they still refuse to tell. Maybe now... maybe they would all get some answers that they've been searching for for years.

That was the hope. The reality... well, that remained to be seen. 

 

 

Jason Todd wasn't sure what he expected to find when he came back to the Manor, but everyone sitting around the dining table eating freshly made Alfred patented cookies was not it. It was a pleasant surprise, no doubt, but in all honesty he thought they would all be arguing with each other by now.

Or they were just waiting for Jason and Luke to come back before starting that.

Either way, it was nice to indulge on a few cookies after... after everything. 

Believe it or not, Jason was torn on how he should feel about Joker's death. On one hand, the leftover Pit inside his blood hissed with pleasure, knowing that the monster that had killed him so long ago was finally gone forever. It might not have been at his hands like he wanted it to, but at least someone took care of what should have been taken cared of years, even decades ago. The other side of him ached and felt regret, knowing that the one who had taken Joker's life was Timmy, his little brother, his little brother that had only known Jason at his worst. Timmy, who was supposed to believe everything good in the world, who was supposed to fight for justice and make sure the darkness didn't win.

Now, his little brother had  _become_ that darkness, the Demon that haunted everyone in the night they all tried to suppress, and Jason wasn't going to deny the truth; the truth that he was a big reason why Timmy became that way. Even now he could feel the former Robin's hot blood running down his fingers, his thin, pale neck split wide open, knowing that it would only be minutes before he bleed out of the Bats didn't get to him in time-

If only he hadn't been riding that god awful Pit rage, if only he had come to his senses sooner, if only Talia al fucking Ghul hadn't manipulated him like a god damn puppet without a brain- 

Luke was giving him a concerned look now, probably noticing just how tightly Jason was gripping his cookie, which was starting to crumble in his hands. Jason forced himself to take a deep breath, raising his eyes to Luke's long enough to let the other know that he was okay. Luke probably didn't believe jack shit, especially after the other vigilante had followed him to Joker's crime scene to help with the police, but he just gave small nod, and for that Jason felt grateful. Luke was a good person to have around, steady and calm, even when faced with a crazy family with stupid crazy interactions and dynamics few could even begin to understand.

Jason wondered how the other felt about all of this. He and Tim didn't really know each other when Tim disappeared, even if they did know of each other's existence. Tim was always closer with Tam then he was with Luke, which-

Huh. They were going to have to tell Tam about this, weren't they? She, like many others, barely kept any contact with the Bats when Tim disappeared, even if she did keep WE intact and running efficiently. Unlike the Titans though, Tam had been much more willing to give away information on Tim if it meant finding her friend. Unfortunately, she still refused to give away anything that had to do with the Titans, saying very little about subjects she considered to be Titans territory and not her own.   

Jason shoved the rest of the crumbled cookie in his mouth before glancing around at the rather impressive congregation. No one seemed eager to talk about anything, which he found understandable. A lot of the tension felt like it was coming from Talia, who despite not saying a word this entire time still managed to oppress the room with her presence. The part of Jason that was pleased with Joker's death also wanted Talia's blood, but he shoved that part of him as far down as it would go. He wasn't that person, not anymore. He wouldn't give into the blood lust, no matter what.

As pretty much everyone predicted, the awkward avoiding of the subjects needed to be discussed was broken by Bruce. "Kon, I think I know why you couldn't find Tim's heartbeat after all these years," he said, using the tablet in his hands to project a hologram that took up the entirety of the table. It looked to be a blood report, which was undoubtedly Tim's. It took a couple moments for everyone to understand what they were looking at, but Jason could feel the moment everyone understood.

"Is that-" Kon started, his voice trembling, unable to finish his sentence. 

"Kryptonite," Bruce finished for him. "Somehow, Tim found a way to infuse his blood with Kryptonite, enough so that those with Kryptonian genes wouldn't be able to sense if he even existed."

"How is that even  _possible?"_ Jason demanded. "First you would have to know it even  _worked,_ then you would have to have steady enough supply of Kryptonite to continuously replace what was lost. I'm no expert, but even  _I_ know that there isn't enough Kryptonite on Earth to supply something like that for more than a couple of months, let alone _years."_

Bruce hesitated for a moment before answering. "Tim definitely would've have had an idea of whether or not something like that could work. It was a project he and I were working on before I uh,  _died._ As far as I knew, nothing ever came from it, and I scrapped the idea a few months after I came back. It looked like no one had touched the file or the project in over a year, but it seems Tim took a copy of it before he disappeared. Where he got all of the Kryptonite, however, I have no idea. You're right, Jason, for Tim to keep this up for _years-_ he would have to have a steady supply of Kryptonite, which doesn't exist anywhere on Earth." 

"I believe that's where I come in," Talia intersected casually, bringing all eyes onto her. If she was bothered by the amount of hostility sent her way, she didn't show it at all. "You see, when Timothy came to my Father-"

"Wait a fucking second," Steph interrupted harshly. Her eyes were red, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from crying, maybe from a little bit of both. "Did you just seriously tell all of us that Tim Drake went to  _Ra's al Ghul?_ Excuse my French, but that's pretty hard to fucking believe, and I've seen some pretty damn impossible things in my life."

Talia, once again, was not phased, not even as the mere  _suggestion_ of Tim going to Ra's al Ghul for any reason caused everyone in the room's adrenaline to spike. "I've already told Bruce this part, but I do suppose that all of you deserve to hear the story as well.

"When Bruce 'died' and only Timothy thought him to still be alive, he came to my Father to ask for help. He told my Father that he would become apart of the League of Assassins however he saw fit, as long as he did whatever he could to prove Bruce was still alive and bring him back. During this time, Timothy also discussed an idea in which Kryptonians wouldn't be able to sense you at all, using Kryptonite. My Father was fascinated with the idea, especially as he had just finished a device that could synthetically replicate Kryptonite using other materials by rearranging the molecular structure of said materials. This, I believe, is where Timothy got his supply of Kryptonite, though I am not sure whether or not my Father knew that he was using it on himself."

"You said... Tim promised to become apart of the League of Assassins, however Ra's saw fit?" Kon asked hesitantly, after several moments of silence had passed between them all. "What exactly did Tim...  _become?"_

Talia considered the half-Kryptonian for several seconds, her lips pursed. There was something almost like pity in her poison green eyes, eyes that were colored so much like the Pit Jason hated so much. Yet, looking at Talia now, it was somehow hard to feel the same amount of rage he used to feel for her, especially like this. Something about her was  _different_ now, older, fragiler. 

"Timothy became my Father's lover," she finally said, and in that moment the room became unbearably hot. Kon's eyes were now bright red, only moments away from shooting out lasers that could burn the Manor to the ground. Both Raven and Bart grabbed Kon's arms from either side, trying to calm him down, but it seemed to matter very little.

"I'm going to  _kill_ him," Kon growled. "I'm going to tear him into so many pieces that no amount of Pits will _ever_ bring him back-"

"Thinking about killing my Father, Superboy? Well, I hate to tell you this, but you're much too late for that," Talia said, making all of the heat in the room suddenly freeze into ice. "You see," she continued, "Timothy made sure he and anyone who's ever been apart of the League of Assassins would never come back years ago, and also made sure that no one would ever use a Lazarus Pit ever again. So, tell me, are you overjoyed now that you know my Father and all of his minions are dead?" 

 

 

Stephanie Brown learned long ago that she doesn't cry. It's impossible for her to do so, the simple act of tears rolling down your face while you sniffle every once in a while. No, instead, she  _sobs._ She becomes unable to talk, her entire body shuttering with the force of her emotions spilling into the outside, barely able to take a breath before a new wave of emotion comes to suffocate her whole. It's not regal to look at, only ugly. She can't stop it like others seem to do, can't calm herself down on the spot. The only thing she _can_ do it wait it out in a place where no one was around, let out every ugly sob and emotion until there's nothing left but emptiness.

In all honesty, she's shocked that the emptiness came in time for the meeting involving Tim, but now, with Talia's claim that Tim was Ra's al Ghul's lover and and the League of Assassins murderer, Stephanie thinks that she still has a bit more ugly emotion trying to well up in her chest, threatening to burn her eyes and cheeks with tears. She forces this down by taking slow, deep breaths, knowing that she was no use to anyone if she was just going to burst into sobs every time someone mentioned Tim.

Just as she thought no one was going to speak, Duke did. "Did Tim take the information on how to make the Kryptonite with him when he uh- killed Ra's?"

Talia shrugged, and right then and there Stephanie wanted to punch that woman until she stopped looking like a goddamn marble statue. This entire time she's showed nearly no emotion, like nothing about this situation bothered her, all while Stephanie couldn't  _stop_ showing emotion. How could someone like her be human, be so detached from her heart that the death of her own Father didn't bother her?

Then again, this was the same woman that had next to no problem forcing her child to torture and kill anyone and everyone, so maybe Stephanie shouldn't be asking that question.

"The actual answer for that is that I have no idea. Timothy destroyed the League's network when he took down the Lazarus Pits, but I have no problem believing that he took some of the information with him. At the same time, however, it doesn't make sense for Timothy to store information about something he undoubtedly knows everything about, so why not let it die with the rest of the League? Unless you have an idea about why that would be?" Talia questioned, a single eyebrow raising.

Duke swallowed, his fingers drumming on the table as his nerves flared up. "I was just thinking- months ago before all of this started, Two-Face and his gang showed up at the docks seemingly overnight with no explanation. I got wind that they were transporting something around, but I couldn't figure out what. I thought it was some kind of new drug, but I wasn't able to find out before I got pulled into a major mission with a few of the others that needed more immediate attention."

"I remember reading that report," Damian said. "I also remember thinking that something was off with the whole situation with Two-Face- like we were missing a pieces of the puzzle."

"And then, a little while later, Bruce comes in at the end of a deal gone wrong between Two-Face's and a Metropolis gang, a deal that the De- Tim interfered with," Duke corrected himself, flushing at the stutter in his words. "Bruce was able to get one of the products he was trying to get away with, and well, inside it was Kryptonite, right?"

"That was the weird thing," Jason came in, his fingertips tracing an unknown pattern into his hand, seemingly not realizing he was doing it. "I wasn't  _really_ Kryptonite, just enough like the real thing that it could be mistaken for it-" Jason suddenly stopped and looked Duke right in the eye. "Are you saying... that Tim somehow _gave_ Two-face a way to create his own Kryptonite? Why would he do that?" 

"To get whatever the Metropolis gang traded it for," Stephanie answered easily, surprised with how steady her voice was. "He clearly didn't have much of a need for the Kryptonite, seeing as he has the means to make it himself."

"It would also explain why Two-Face's gang suddenly started acting so strangely," Duke continued. "I mean, Two-Face might not have all of his marbles, but he's not stupid either. If he somehow got his hands on how to make Kryptonite... well, it would make him rich beyond compare. But it would also make him a pretty large target, which is probably why he told so few that he even had it. And killing Nia Proscaro... I'm willing to bet that Proscaro knew about the formula for Kryptonite, which is why Tim killed her, and maybe even Andy Salinger had something to do with it as well. It makes sense, in some weird, fucked up way."

"Tying up... loose ends," Cass mumbled, more to herself than anything, but it still cemented the idea that every move Tim has made was for a very,  _very_ specific reason, even if they've overlooked those reasons. 

"Now we just gotta figure out what that Metropolis gang had that Tim wanted," Jason said. "I bet if we figure that out, everything else would make a lot more sense."

"I think I can answer that too." Bruce changed the hologram from Tim's bloodwork to something that showed an analysis of a foreign object. "This is what was in Tim's hand before Kon broke it. I gathered every piece I could, and according to the Batcomputer, it's a Mother Box."

"You mean like the one Cyborg has? How did a random Metropolis gang even get one?" Garth questioned, hie eyes quickly scanning the report. 

Bruce shrugged. "Mother Boxes can be nearly impossible to detect, and many of them have their own unique signature that makes it impossible to identify if you don't have the pieces with you. Tim was probably this Mother Box to get around quickly, which is why he seemed to be able to teleport on a whim."

"That seems to be too simple of an answer," Cassie hummed. "That can't be the only reason Tim got the Mother Box, not to do something that he could easily figure out himself. Plus, there are pieces of the Mother Box missing from this one; I've seen enough blueprints of them to know. I would recommend talking to Cyborg so that he can tell you what exactly is missing and what it's purpose was, because believe me, it may not be here, but it's being used somehow."

It was a disturbing thought, but one they needed to take seriously. It pained Stephanie to think about just what Tim was doing with those extra pieces, what other horrible things he could be planning, but something told her that Tim was done taking out his revenge on them. And yet... he wasn't done. What was the piece they were all missing?

"So that's the story then?" Stephanie couldn't stop herself from snapping, feeling that bitter anger well inside her chest. "We as a collective group somehow fuck up so much that Tim goes to Ra's al Ghul to find Bruce, he destroys the League of Assassins, comes back to Gotham to take out his revenge on us and kill every villain around, and now what? Are we gonna let him rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life? Try and _reform_ him or something? Tim clearly doesn't want our help or our input, so what the Hell do we do? You can't just _fix_ someone who's been through all of that."

"In all honesty, I have no idea what's going to happen to Tim," Cassie said. "But I do know this: one way or another, he's coming back with us, to San Francisco. He shouldn't be in Gotham any longer than he has to."

"Wait a minute," Dick interjected, and it was then that Stephanie realized that this was the first time Dick had spoken since they've gotten back to the Manor. His voice was surprisingly weak and thin, like he was moments away from a breakdown, and from the looks of it, that prediction wasn't too far off. "I know you guys care about Tim, but we're his family. He needs to stay here until he- until he-"

"Until he whats, Dick?" Cassie barked, her calm demeanor breaking. "None of you here have been his family in  _years._ You want to know why we never told any of you that he and Kon were dating? Because he _asked_ us to. You want to know why we never told you about his suicidal thoughts, about the depression he had been living with? Because he was terrified that if you found out that you'd kick him to the literal curb like you've done with everything else in his life. From the beginning he's been living with nothing but pain, and no one, not even a family of the worlds greatest detectives, ever found out but us. We did our best to keep him safe, did our best to make sure that he wouldn't go over the deep end, but no, you just _had_ to keep pushing, had to prove to him time and time again that he meant _nothing_ to you. Tell me Dick, how long did it take you to notice Tim was gone before you did anything about it? Did you figure it out yourself and just not care, or did it take someone else to tell you before you realized just how majorly you fucked up? How many times did you abandon him? How many times did you call him crazy?"

Cassie took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm not going to pretend that the Titans aren't also to blame with what happened to Tim, but at least we admit it. At least we didn't pretend to be Tim's family and then not care about him unless he was useful. At least we didn't rip everything away from him and wonder why he left. 

"Tim is coming with us whether you like it or not. I don't care what we have to do, who we have to fight, but we are  _not_ letting Tim become another ghost in your graveyard. Do we have an understanding?"

No one said anything. The room was so silent that you could've heard a pin drop on the carpeted floor. Barely anyone even dared to breathe.

And the sad part was... Stephanie  _agreed_ with what Cassie was saying. She knows she didn't do he fair share to help Tim, especially not after she faked her death. The last thing Tim needed was more bad memories to constantly surround him, knowing that once again he was trapped with the people that he believed caged him for so many years.

Stephanie was going to speak up, let the Titans know that she supported them, but she never got the chance. Instead, Oracle's signal came into the hologram that was still showing the Mother Box information, and she sounded panicked.

"All of you need to get out to Gotham  _now._ Half of the city is getting blown to pieces."               


	17. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone... so we're finally at then end, aren't we? Thank you to everyone who's read this fic and shown your support, it really means a lot. This has probably been my favorite fic to write, which is saying a lot since I really loved In Which Red Robin is Done With Marvel's Shit.
> 
> And now... I just have to say I think that many of you won't like how this ends. I've thought about it for a long time, thought about changing the end to something else, but in rereading the entire thing, thinking about how I originally pictured the fic in my head... to me, this is the only way it could end. I know that means a lot of people might not like it, but this is the story I wanted to tell.
> 
> With that being said, thank you for reading See What I've Become.

Damian's ears were ringing faintly with Oracle's words, barely noticing anything around him as he and the others bolted down to the Batcave. Alarms were going off like crazy, bathing much of the dank Cave and its occupants in blood red light. Creepily enough, in the middle of it all sat Timothy in the chamber, the smallest smile on his face and the faintest gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. Damian couldn't stop himself from staring Timothy, watching how he observed everything around him like it was a game only he knew the rules to. He didn't seem to care that everyone was panicking, trying to understand why the Hell bombs were suddenly going off in Gotham- 

"What did you do?" Damian whispered, only loud enough to reach his own ears. A chill had set into his blood, his nerves tingling with adrenaline and something like dread. There wasn't a doubt in Damian's mind that whatever was happening, whatever destruction was being caused, it was somehow put into place by Timothy. 

"What did you  _do?"_ Damian demanded, loud enough that everyone in the cave could hear him, but he couldn't care less about them. He only cared about Timothy, Timothy's eyes on him, Timothy's plans and plans within plans. How had they not considered it sooner, that maybe he had a back up plan or something of the sort in case anything went wrong? This was Timothy Drake they were talking about, someone who was notorious for his seemingly infinite number of contingencies and his ability to predict any future outcome that could possibly occur.

They should have seen it sooner. But none of them did.

Timothy considered Damian for a moment, tilting his head to the side as if studying an annoying rock stuck in the groves of his shoe. Everyone else around them was holding their breath, trying to understand what was happening even as the alarms screamed at them all. Timothy's eyes swept around the room, a smirk growing on his face with each passing moment.

"Don't worry," he finally said softly, startling Damian out of his stillness. "The bombs won't kill anyone. Not yet, anyway. First they will only happen at abandoned buildings and streets... then allies, under bridges, small ones at apartments, and eventually it'll make it all the way to hospitals and schools. But something tells me you all want to stop them before they get that far, right?"

"Timothy," Damian hissed, placing his hands on the glass. "I  _know_ there's still good in you, that deep down you still want to see those who do good lead happy lives. _Please_ tell us how to make the bombs stop before anyone truly gets hurt."

Timothy's eyes slowly met Damian's, and Damian was surprised with how...  _black_ Timothy's eyes were. They were always a darker shade of blue, almost a royal blue, but now they were positively midnight with no signs of light hidden anywhere. It sent shivers up the Robin's spine, a voice in his head telling him that this monster, _Timothy-_ was more dangerous than any villain, even his own Grandfather.

His own Grandfather, who had fallen to Timothy.

"I'm not sure there is a way to stop it," Timothy smirked, his tone dripping with fake sincerity. "At least, not in the way you want it to. It's not like  _I_ control when the bombs go off."

"That's what those pieces of Mother Box are for," Kon said suddenly, a look of realization crossing his face. "They can be programmed to do nearly anything if you know what you're doing- that must be what those missing pieces are for, for setting of the bombs at random."

"Can we track their signal?" Luke asked, already at the Batcomputer and furiously typing in demands. "I mean, something like a Mother Box is bound to have a unique pattern we can track."

"Unfortunately, that's not how Mother Boxes work," came Oracle through the computer, seemingly working side by side with Luke. "Mother Boxes each have a unique signature, that is true, but they operate on a frequency that doesn't exist anywhere else in the universe as far as we know. So, if you wanted to track one, you would have to create a device that was specific to that Mother Box's frequency. You would be able to find it, yes, but no other. So unless Tim has a device like that hidden somewhere, we have no way of knowing where any of the bombs are."

"Timothy," Damian pleaded, trying to find  _something_ in those dead, dead eyes. "You have to have a way to stop them, a contingency that would make sure you could plan on the fly if need be. There's no other way, unless you truly planned on blowing off half of Gotham, which I seriously doubt."

Timothy hummed, as if seriously thinking about the words Damian was speaking. "That's the thing, you see," he drawled. "There  _is_ something very similar to the object you are describing, something that would deactivate all of the bombs I've planted."

"Great," Jason growled, "so where is it?"

"It's in my safe house," Timothy replied casually, and everyone's eyes lit up at the idea, knowing that they really had a  _chance_ to stop the bombs. And yet... something in Damian's gut squeezed at the simplistic tone Timothy was using with them. "And that's the _other_ thing: it can only be deactivated by myself, by my blood and voice to be specific, at the same time. I've also programmed the system to know if I'm really there or not, so you can't just take some of my blood and record my voice, either."

The hope in everyone's eyes slowly faded with each passing word from Timothy's mouth, all of them truly understanding what he was saying. 

"Tim," Kon said gently. "We can't just let you out, you know that right?"

Timothy shrugged. "Well then, I guess most of Gotham will need to be rebuilt by next week. I wonder what the casualties will be? Surely more than the Joker ever accomplished in one go, but who  _really_ knows? I'm  _very_ willing to bet that Joker's tortured and killed more people than we could ever keep track of, but I'm sure I would still rack up an impressive number, don't you think?"

 

 

Bruce could only stare at Tim's dark smile. He couldn't help but feel like every word Tim was saying was directed at him, that every little jab about the Joker and his victims was meant to see how far he could push Bruce's subconscious. Bruce's done everything he can to block out the memory of his son slitting the Joker's throat right in front of him without a care in the world, but it was hard. He knew that if he focused on it for too long, he would break down into a million shattered pieces, wonder where it all went so terribly,  _horribly_ wrong. Clearly there was a point where Tim crossed the point of no return, where he stopped caring about everything around him and decided that the world was his playground, but he didn't know where it was.

Was he doomed from the start, the product of neglectant parents and unending pain and depression?

Was it after Kon's death, when he tried to commit suicide?

Was it Stephanie's faked murder?

Or when Jack Drake was killed?

When Bruce slipped into the time stream and everyone but Tim thought he was dead?

Or maybe... or maybe it was when Dick took away Robin and gave it to Damian.

And then... there was the distinct possibility that it was everything piling on top of one another, building up until eventually the dam that held Timothy Jackson Drake together spilled over into nothing. He would never truly know, in fact, he isn't even sure if  _Tim_ knows. There is something Bruce  _does_ know, however: Tim would never recover, never get better from this. He could hope all he wants, he could put Tim under the best care the world had to offer, he could do everything in his power to help his son and it would be all for nothing. He's seen enough cases like Tim to know.

So now, staring at his son act so uncaring that he had the potential to kill thousands in Gotham through bombs he intentionally planted, something inside Bruce permanently shifts. He knows that this was probably some sort of set up so that Tim could get away, but he didn't care. It was clear that Tim wanted nothing to do with them, and that there was nothing they could do to help him. Hell... maybe he would heal if he was  _gone,_ away from all of this that broke him in the first place.

Bruce walked over to the Batcomputer, gently pushing Luke out of the way and ignoring his confused look. He could feel Cass's eyes burning into the back of his skull, and had no doubt that his daughter knew exactly what he was thinking about doing, but she made no move to stop him. Bruce was sure that in a way, she agreed with him, no matter how hard it would be to accept. She and Tim used to be so close, used to be nearly connected at the hip, and now... 

Nearly everyone was staring at him now, watching as he put commands into the Batcomputer. He could feel their confusion climb with each moment, and he knew that once he was done, they'd be even more confused. But that didn't matter, not really. What mattered was getting all the bombs deactivated and... and letting Tim go. He deserved that much, after everything that's happened.

With a final push of a button, the chamber Tim was in powered down and hissed, the glass around him opening up until there was nothing between Tim and the rest of the Cave. Damian, who was closest, stayed perfectly still, like a single uncalculated movement could set his brother off. 

"Bruce, what are you  _doing?"_ Dick questioned, his eyes alight with uncertainty. He could barely look Tim's direction, but all of his panic was sent that way, like Tim himself was the bomb getting ready to go off.

"I'm giving Tim what he wants," Bruce replied. "I'm setting him free."

 

 

Kon knows this could only end badly. He knows with every fiber of his being that they shouldn't have let Tim out of that chamber, that they should have found a different way to take care of the bombs, but it was too late to take any of it back. A part of him was ecstatic to see Tim, the one he still loved after all of these years, free from that horrible prison, but he knew this was not the Tim he fell in love with. This Tim didn't love anything or anyone, at least, not for the reasons he should. This Tim was ruthless and careless, killed without mercy and tortured everyone else, manipulated the strings of the world as if it were nothing more than a game. This Tim was the one they all helped create.

"As much as I know all of you would  _love_ to help me get to my safe house to deactivate the bombs, do know that it would be a bad idea," Tim said simply. "The deactivation will only take care of about 70% of the bombs, but the rest will then have a trackable signal that will allow them to be easily dealt with. You will have around an hour to take care of all of them before they go off, so I suggest that you have as many of you around the city as possible. Therefore, I will only require one escort. Any questions?"

The tension in the room could not have been higher if any of them tried, the air so electric that Kon was positive it would ignite if someone as much as pushed a wrong button on the Batcomputer. The half-Kryptonian himself felt his nerves going haywire, every sense hyperactive to Tim's presence, what he was doing and what his next move would be. Every word Tim said was so calculated and practical that it felt scripted, detached from any human emotion.  

Kon wanted to say that of course he had dozens of fucking questions, half which were directed at Bruce and why the Hell he thought it was a good idea to let Tim go, but Bruce himself beat him to it. "Who do you wish to be your escort?"

Tim's dark eyes met Bruce's almost an expression of shock crossing his sharp features. Gods, after all these years he was even more gorgeous than before, which Kon never would have thought possible. His silence stretched for a few more moments before Tim finally answered, "Kon."

Kon felt all the oxygen leave his lungs as those dark eyes looked at him directly for the first time in years, no mask guarding his expression. He could hardly believe his ears, knowing that Tim chose  _him,_ though probably not for a reason he should be happy for. He didn't care.

"Now that that's taken cared of," Tim continued, as if words hadn't hit the half-Kryptonian right in the fucking heart. "Something tells me that we should get moving before more of the bombs start exploding."

 

 

They put Tim in the strongest handcuffs they had, meant to hold those with Kryptonian like strength and abilities. Kon was still sure it wouldn't be enough, knowing that Tim would never rely on his strength to get him out of anywhere. They also gave Kon a comm so that he could communicate with everyone else regardless of where in Gotham he was, as well as a tracker so that his movements could be traced at all times. Usually, Kon would find all of this unnecessary and even a little creepy, but he understood why the Bats were making so many precautions, trying to make sure that the bird they just found wouldn't fly away so easily.

Just before they were about to head out, Cassie pulled Kon aside and out of earshot of any normal hearing range. "Are you sure that you want to do this?" she asked, but it wasn't unkindly or meant to be degregating. It was a simple statement of fact, of worry that showed support for a friend. "I don't want you to get caught up in this because you feel obligated to, or because you feel as if you have no choice. Someone else can go, Kon."

The half-Kryptonian took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to clear his thoughts. His head has felt too full ever since he got the message from Damian, ever since he first saw Tim with his own eyes through that video. He still clearly remembers that moment, how every train of thought crashed into one another and simultaneously converged until all he could think about was Tim. He'd never truly given up on the idea that Tim was still alive and out there somewhere, but believing it and seeing it were two completely different things.

And now... Kon completely understood where Cassie's concerns were coming from, but something told him that it had to be him that Tim was with. He was sure that if he changed his mind, then Tim would find some excuse on why he couldn't deactivate the bombs. The entirety of Gotham was at his mercy, and unfortunately, they had to go along with it if they wanted to save as many people as they could.

"I'll be fine, Cassie, I swear," Kon tried to say light heartedly, a small and strained smile on his lips. "Besides... I need to do this. Something tells me that this isn't going to end unless it's me."

Cassie mimicked the sad smile Kon had, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. "I thought you would say that, but I just had to make sure. Good luck."

It was then that another alarm went off, and alarm that was quickly filled in by Oracle. "Another bomb just went off," she explained rapidly. "It was at an old apartment building on the East End, and emergency personnel have already been contacted and sent to it. They're going to need as much help as they can get."

"Go," Kon told Cassie as everyone began darting out of the Cave. "They need you. I have my own job to complete."

Cassie gave one more nod before flying off, the Titans quickly following behind her. Bruce was the last one to leave the Cave, giving one last long look at Tim before fitting the cowl over his face and darting into the night. 

"So," the half-Krypton said into the now nearly empty Cave, doing everything he could to make sure his voice didn't crack. It was in that moment that he realized that he still couldn't fully hear Tim's heartbeat, and how erri it was to know that someone else was in the room with him without being able to find evidence of their life. "Shall we?"     

 

 

After everything else that's happened, plans ruined and scrapped after being perfectly constructed, Tim found that it was almost too easy to get what he wanted. Sure, the bombs were quite the motivator, but he was positive that it would take a few more bombs going off before anyone decided to take his demands seriously. It seemed that making it so that bombs would start going off if he didn't come back to the safe-house after 24 hours paid off, especially in the company of Bats that would do anything to save a few more lives.

Still, it did beg the question on  _why_ he was let go so easily, with his escort of choice no less. In fact, the rest of his plan hindered on the hope that he would get his escort of choice, which in hindsight, probably wasn't such a good idea. Then again, it was working.

Getting to the safe-house was the easiest part of the plan, if the most awkward. It would seem that Kon still had some left over feelings for him, which was rather unfortunate on the half-Kryptonians part. He flew them to where they needed to go at Tim's directions, barely looking at him until they finally reached the safe-house, time in which Tim was inclined to believe that yet another bomb had gone off, if Kon's flinch at a sound only he could hear was any indication. 

Tim began deactivating the security of the safe-house, as well as he was able seeing as he was securely handcuffed. That would be remedied shortly.

"Do you remember the note you left for me? After that night?"

Tim froze in place, looking up from the number pad he was about to enter commands into. It was good that Kon hadn't talked after be started the commands, or else they would both be dead right now. Tim wasn't too sure if he was grateful for that or not, knowing what he was going to be doing shortly. Then again, Gotham would still be in trouble of the bombs, so maybe he should be grateful for Kon's timing. 

"Of course I do. What about it?" Tim asked simply, watching the complex emotions run over the half-Kryptonians face. To think that there was a time that Tim would show his emotions in a similar fashion, give away everything about himself so easily. No wonder he was used to much, if everyone could see him like this. Maybe Kon would learn to change that once he was finally gone. 

"What did you mean? When you said that I would never see you again?"

A smile passed through Tim's face in less than a moment, disappearing before Kon could decide whether or not it had truly been there. "I meant exactly what I said. It seems that I assumed wrong. Don't worry, I'll fix that soon enough." With that said, Tim began working on the commands, ignoring any other questions Kon tried to ask him. To his dull surprise, Kon said nothing else, simply watching with detached interest. 

With all the commands put into place, the door to the safe-house opened easily. The second Tim and Kon separately walked through the door, the different electrical devices attached to them ceased to function, the EMP Tim had activated doing its work beautifully. Kon instantly realized something was wrong, but was unable to do anything before Tim was on him, the handcuffs that were supposed to be able to hold Kryptonians hanging uselessly over his wrists. In a matter of moments, Tim cuffed the handcuffs on Kon and reactivated them, making sure that the Kryptonite threaded into the metal was present. Kon fell to the floor with a gasp, the feeling of his strength being ripped cell from cell hitting him like a truck. It was worse than the Kryptonite powder Tim had thrown at him, his body physically unable to do anything other than watch Tim do as he pleased.

"Now, that's much better," Tim said almost happily, rubbing his wrists. "You know, I still can't believe all of you let me go so easily, knowing that I was probably going to trap you at one point or another. I guess the memory of who I used to be is just too strong in your minds to fully see what I've become. Oh well, it makes it easier on me, I guess."

"Wait," Kon gasped, struggling to breathe more and more with each passing moment. "The... bombs. The bombs."

Tim sighed, moving around the safe-house easily and grabbing the necessary items to complete his final act. "Don't worry, the bombs will be deactivated, just as I promised. The Bats and Titans will even be able to find you before you die of Kryptonite poisoning, which I find to be rather kind considering I could just kill your right here and now. I guess some part of me still wants you to live."

Tim stopped in front of Kon, having gathered everything he needed, the deactivation of the bombs set to go off in five minutes. He looked deeply into the half-Kryptonians pain filled eyes, seeing the love that he still had for him buried in them. It was rather sad, really; Kon had been pretty much the only thing in his old life worth living for, and now, in this life, he had nothing else. 

Tim pressed on last kiss to Kon's lips, letting himself linger on what could have been. "I'm sorry, Kon," he whispered. "In another life, another world, we could've had everything together. I'm sorry this world wasn't one of them." He stood up, walking over to the exit of the safe-house.

"You'll never see me again."

It was final, the words of someone who wasn't ever coming back, and in that moment, Kon understood everything. 

He had no time to try and stop Tim before he disappeared forever.

 

 

Drake Manor hasn't been touched in years, that much Tim knows. It's obvious from the way the entire property has gone to disrepair, Mother Nature taking back what was rightfully hers by covering the majestic Manor in ivy and vines that slowly destroyed the very foundation it stood on, patiently waiting for a moment when any evidence of human interference was gone. Tim could feel the memories of his childhood bleeding out into the air, desperately screaming to be remembered, to not be lost in the long string of time. 

As far as Tim was concerned, Drake Manor would have only one memory attached to it after this day, and he wouldn't be around to see it.

He stared up at the Manor, taking in a deep breath, savoring all of the smells that reminded him of who he used to be. It seemed appropriate to end everything here, where it all started.

With everything put into place, Timothy Jackson Drake stepped into Drake Manor, ready to complete his final act. 

 

 

Dick was anxious. There was no other way to say it, the nerves constantly crawling up his spine, the anticipation that something was about to go horribly wrong, terrible scenarios running through his mind at a million miles per hour. 

The apartment building that had blown up thankfully had no one in it, but they still had to make sure the civilian population that lived closest was safe. Minutes felt like hours as they all waited for something else to happen, whether it be another bomb exploding or their locations. Unfortunately, it was the explosion that came first, one only a few blocks down that was much closer to a populated area than this one. They had all rushed to it, Raven and Wonder Girl getting there the fastest and doing everything they could to save the civilians caught in the crossfire, and once again Dick was struck with the knowledge that  _Tim_ had purposely done this, had set up these bombs as a contingency, as if the lives of the innocent suddenly didn't matter anymore.

It was only a few minutes after that when they got the locations of the other bombs, and Batman instantly ordered everyone to spread out around the city to deactivate. If what Tim said earlier was true, then they had an hour at most to deactivate the rest of the bombs. 

It was on the way to one of the bombs that Dick suddenly got a new signal on his comm, one that didn't sound like it was there before.  _"Help..."_ they were saying, sounding weak and raspy. _"It's... Kon,"_ was followed by a dry coughing fit, and Dick felt his throat go dry. They had been so focused on the bombs that they had pretty much forgotten about Tim and Kon, who were supposed to deactivate them in the first place. Dick immediately switched directions, tracking the signal until he came across a warehouse that Tim must have been using as his case of operations.

The vigilante kicked down the door, ready to see both Kon and Tim in some sort of danger, only to see... Kon.

Tim was gone.

Dick felt numb, his brain going haywire. He  _knew_ that giving Tim what he wanted was a bad idea from the start, that Bruce should have been stricter with him, but for whatever reason his mentor thought it was okay to go along with it. And now Tim, his little brother, the one thing he couldn't make peace with, was gone, and Kon was left behind in the very handcuffs they had put on Tim.

Dick rushed over to Kon, powering down the handcuffs. The half-Kryptonian took a deep breath, free of the Kryptonite infused within them. "Tim," he gasped, gripping Dick's spandex covered arm with a weak but determined hand. "We have to find Tim... or else we'll never see him again."

"Kon, what do you mean?" Dick asked frantically, already trying to change frequencies on his comm so that he could communicate with the others. Kon grabbed him with both hands, forcing the vigilante to look him in the eye, even if his own were covered in a mask.

"He's going to end it all."

And that's when the broadcast began.

 

 

They were right when they said that pieces of the Mother Box were missing, but they were wrong it what they believed the pieces were being used for. They thought they were being used to simply create untraceable bombs, but no, they're _much_ more than that. In fact, Mother Boxes could be used to integrate a broadcasting network into an entire city without anyone noticing, something Tim has done already when he broadcasted the Joker's death.

Everyone seemed to overlook this detail, no one questioning how he was able to broadcast the Joker's final moments to everyone in Gotham without a traceable source. Now, he was about to do it again, but not for the torture of a madman.

This time, it would be a different kind of message.

 

 

_"My name is Timothy Jackson Drake. Some of you already know who I am, or who I used to be. The rest know me by a different name: the Demon."_

All over Gotham, the panic that had been running through the streets abruptly calmed, everyone drawn to their closest screen, whether it be a T.V or cellphone, to see what the owner of that voice had to say. There wasn't a single person in the city who didn't know who the Demon was, and Jim Gordon, much like the rest of Gotham, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and horror.

_"I'm the one who took out the villains of Gotham one by one, the one who killed the Joker for the entire city to see. I'm also the one that took down the League of Assassins, the one that killed Digger Harkness, and the one who set off all the bombs everyone it currently so worried about. I promise you don't have to worry about those anymore, at least, accept for one."_

A wicked smile appeared on Timothy Jackson Drake's face at that, but his dark eyes held nothing behind them, Jim couldn't help but think of the kid he knew long ago, the kid that was bright and shy, sharp as a whip and hesitant to smile. This man, this  _thing,_ was nothing like the Timothy Jackson Drake Jim remembered, but then again, it's been years since anyone has seen the child Bruce Wayne took in under his wing.

_"I thought I would tell everyone a quick little story before I head out, before I'm nothing more but a memory to this world. You see, it starts many years ago, with a little boy in a place where he could never be loved."_

 

 

"Drake Manor," Jason gasped, feeling as if he just got electrocuted. "That's where he is that's where-"

"Jason," Bruce said firmly, gripping his son's shoulder with a powerful hand. "I need you to tell me where the last bomb is, I need-"

Jason shook his hand, his eyes brimming with tears as he thought about all of the bombs they've deactivated, and yet the signal tells him that there's still one more hidden somewhere, one that they couldn't find. They had less than ten minutes before it was supposed to go off, but Jason knew exactly where it was. He knew the moment he heard Tim speaking through the broadcast, knew the moment Tim said those first few lines. He knew exactly what Tim was going to do, knew exactly what Kon meant when he said Tim was going to end it all.

"The bomb is at Drake Manor," Jason managed to choke out, seeing the very moment Bruce understood. 

"Tim is there with it." 

 

 

_"That little boy, trapped in a place where he couldn't be loved, felt nothing but pain from the moment he was born. At first, it was only internal, only the ache of his chest and squeezing of his heart. It wasn't long until the physical pain became apart of it, until he used it to forget about everything around him._

_"But then... then he became nothing, a whisper in the wind of shadows, stripped of anything that ever gave him meaning. He became desperate and hopeless, searching for anything to give him meaning, but knowing that it would never come, at least, not in the way he wanted it to. He wanted to be a hero, wanted to be recognized for what he's done for the world, but knew that it would never come._

_"So instead, he decides to do something else. He decides to take vengeance on all of those who have wronged him and the world, to become the very darkness that he tried to contain. He becomes fear, he becomes the **Demon** , using everything he's learned to make sure no villain would ever be able to hurt anyone ever again, and to make sure they knew his name, and why he did it._

_"He became the justice that no one else had been able to give, be became the chaos within the order of the world, making sure that one by one, no one else would ever be able to be harmed by those who harmed him. He became revenge, an tool that cut down all of the evil he could._

_"He became the hero of Gotham, and the villain of those who thought he was just another lunatic, another symptom of the city's underlying filth. But then... then he became trapped, once again a puppet of those who thought that he could somehow be **fixed** , that he was something that could be put back together like their precious city. He became a ghost there, a dead corpse walking among the living until he got away, making it all the way to right.  **Here**." _

Timothy Jackson Drake gestured to the room around him, one that was in a state of disrepair and disuse. Only a few people on Earth knew that place, knew the memories that it held. _"We're back at the beginning, where it all started. Now, I'll become nothing but another disgusting memory, one that people question until their lifeless body is put into the ground where it belongs."_ He looked right into the camera, but he wasn't looking at them, the citizens of Gotham. No, he was looking at someone specific, someone that knew they were being talked to.

_"Don't worry, you won't need to hope for a reincarnation, a way where I could possibly come back. I made sure of that. So,"_ Timothy Jackson Drake gave one last smile, one that actually _showed_ the sorrow embedded into his very soul, the pain that he's lived with for so long and was ready to finally get rid of once and for all. A single tear fell from his eye, which was suddenly much bluer than it had been moments ago.

_"Are you happy, now that you see what I've become?"_

And Drake Manor exploded into nothing.

 

 

They didn't make it in time. By the time any of the Bats or Titans arrived to Drake Manor, the house had been burning for several minutes and was completely ripped to the ground. In those last moments before the explosion, Kon was able to hear Tim's heartbeat for the first time in years, a strong and steady beat that he knew by memory. He collapsed to the ground when it suddenly stopped, knowing deep in his heart what Tim had done.

They did everything they could, but it was for nothing. None of them could go back in time and erase the past, make different choices, no matter how much they wanted to. Instead, they did the only thing they could: remember.

They held a funeral for Timothy Jackson Drake, what little they could find of him, and tried to remember the good things. They tried to remember his smile, remember his heart and soul, but all they could see was that last smile before the explosion, that sad, painful smile. Their memories were forever tainted with their failures and wants, their hopes and family. None of them would ever be the same.

They all saw what Timothy Jackson Drake had become. They all knew it was their fault, knew that they could've done something more to help. They would never get that chance.

Now, all they did was remember and wonder, remember Timothy Jackson Drake, and wonder if they were the very monster he had become.               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cried while writing this not gonna lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> ~Magical_Devil_Alex


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